


Atlantis

by 2peach22, hopefulfragment (supposedlyhinatahajime)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Illegal activity, It's hard to tag something that evolves as you write it, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Qrow runs a bar, Slow Burn, beachside setting, ozqrow - Freeform, small town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2peach22/pseuds/2peach22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposedlyhinatahajime/pseuds/hopefulfragment
Summary: It's the middle of summer, and with the reminder of Summer Rose's passing, Qrow Branwen wants a drink. Luckily, Ozpin will be there to stop his actions from going a little too far.





	1. I

At this rate, if his liver fails before he passes away from heat stroke, this might just be his lucky day. Even with the windows broken to let in the sweet summer breeze, the Crowbar unfortunately remains a sauna, and Qrow wants nothing more than to sink himself headfirst in the ocean. He’s got a business to run, though no one seems to be interested today. Who would want to be indoors when the air conditioner’s broken? With an unhappy grumble, he accepts that things are going to be slow today. Slower than usual, anyway. He’s about to rest his aching feet when he hears a harsh clatter from the kitchen, and at that point he truly wouldn’t mind suffocation by heat and sweat. He wipes his brow, rolls his eyes, dusts his apron, and heads toward the back.

If anyone else had their feet on the countertop where his cooks prepare their food, Qrow would be pissed. His shoulders roll as he leans against the doorway, shoulder pressing into the crack where the door meets the frame. 

A pair of converse swiftly move from the countertop to the side of the fridge, and Ruby’s nimble hands cling onto one of the many pipes that come down from the ceiling. She swings herself around it, easily landing on top of one of the many fridges Qrow uses to store the more temperature sensitive alcohols in. She grabs a box of cereal, holding it over her head and grinning down at her sister, who’s grabbed a spatula and is marching towards the fridge with a vengeance. 

“I told you that there’s no way I’m ‘sharing’ again. Every time we buy Pumpkin Pete’s, you eat the _entire_ box! Not cool!” Yang points the spatula overhead for emphasis, almost smacking her sister’s converse as her tone heats up. Last time Uncle Qrow had sought a simple solution, and figured that to prevent future cereal-related altercations two boxes were required. Ruby polished off her own box two days ago. Now, hungry for more, she’s kidnapped the rest of Yang’s supply. 

“I don’t eat the entire box! Just... part of it!” she takes a step back when Yang slaps at her shoes, and Ruby moves to hop up on the piping to avoid any further strikes. “Besides, if you wanted it, you would’ve eaten it before the best by date!” Ruby adds, sticking out her tongue while crawling along the piping that Qrow’s probably told her to stay off of thousands of times. Oh well. When you want something, sometimes you need to go through a little danger for it first!

“The best-by date is only a suggestion! And you’re being ridiculous. If you wanted more cereal, you should’ve just asked Uncle Qrow!” Her fist connects with the pipe her sister’s taken to, brows discontented and knuckles slowly growing white. Normally, she wouldn’t be so upset about something like this, but this is the third time she’s asked her not to touch her food! Ruby lets out a squawk when the pipe is punched, and she clings to the side of it, letting the cereal fall out of her hands and into Yang’s arms. Her eyes are shut tight but... not because she’s scared! She’s just trying to keep the dust that falls out of her eyes, yeah! 

That’s when the adult in the room finally decides to clear his throat, and the air freezes. “Speaking of asking your uncle, I’m pretty sure I’ve asked _both_ of you not to play around in here before.” His lips fall at the edges as he raises a silent eyebrow. Pale palms fish into his pocket and pull forth a flask, and after a sip, he gestures with the object. “Pretty sure that’s not safe. I’m also pretty sure that we’ve talked about this before, right?”

A chill goes down both Ruby and Yang’s spine, and one of Ruby’s eyes open to stare at her uncle before she lets out a small wave.  
“Hiii, Uncle Qrow...!” she finally responds. They weren’t playing around in here, just…  
Silver eyes flicker down to her sister for help. 

Just…! “Cleaning up, that’s all!” Yang offers a confident smile that her uncle wouldn’t buy used or new.

“Cleaning with a spatula. Right.” His eyes tell all; he’s waiting for the confession.

Her shoulders slump. “Okay, fine. We were playing around, sort of. _I_ was being completely serious.” Pumpkin Pete’s isn’t exactly a joke in this household, after all. But after some careful deliberation that twists her uncle’s lips, she can tell that whatever he’s considering might change that. “Oh, come on, Uncle Qrow!”

“Nope,” he says casually, putting his foot down. “I’m not buying any more of that stuff until you two can learn not to put yourselves in danger.”

There’s a cry of disbelief from Ruby, and she hangs her head before moving to hop down from the pipe. Her head comes to rest against Yang’s shoulder, and she lingers there for a moment before reaching out to grab the box of cereal, which Yang immediately hoists above her head without comment.

 

“Uncle Qrow, you know that this place is a disaster waiting to happen, right?”

“Yeah! And you can’t blame us for using it to our advantage!” 

 

Another day, another long swig from his flask. He loves his girls, he does, but of all things to cause havoc under his roof he wasn’t expecting cereal. 

“I can, and I will. This room’s filled with nothing but sharp edges and bad ideas, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit back and let you ‘use it to your advantage.’ I’m here to make sure you both make it through the summer in one piece, and that ain’t gonna happen if this keeps up.” His hand nervously brushes at the hair resting at his neck, because the thought of either of them losing a finger or something in this stupid room gives him major anxiety. Not to mention what Tai would have to say about that, because Qrow’s pretty sure he’d get his ass kicked all across town and then some. “You’re my responsibility,” he finishes, “so you’re gonna have to deal with my rules one way or another.”

 

“Psshhh… ‘one piece.’” Ruby mumbles, moving away from her sister to begin shuffling out of the room. Stopping in her tracks, however, she gives one look at Qrow with bright, silver eyes before she hops up on the countertop, bounces off of it, and effortlessly snatches the cereal box from Yang’s hand with a small ‘yoink!’ 

 

Worn red converse hit the floor with a muffled thud, and Ruby is sprinting towards the door. She uses one of the doormats to help her with sliding between Qrow’s legs, leaving a pissed Yang in her wake as she vaults over the counter and nearly into the neatly placed row of glasses that Qrow _just_ cleaned. The girl quickly moves to regain her footing, and she stands up straight, grin forced as she stares up into Qrow’s glare. 

Does this kid understand how hard he tries not to discipline them? This isn’t exactly something he enjoys, strives for, or dreams about at night. He’d rather his kids had fun, and he’s not usually the type to say, ‘you’re grounded.’ At this rate, though, he’s slowly running out of options. “Petal,” he cautions, brow raised. “Give that back to your sister. At this point, you’re making a scene.” He’s moved forward by now, mostly to move in-between. Yang rearranging his kiddo’s face really isn’t on his top list of priorities for today.

“Uncle Qrow,” she half grumbles, half growls through her teeth. “Let me handle this.” She wants to chase her. She loves her sister, she does, but this is a war declaration and it isn’t fair.

“Yang,” he responds, kind of amused at this point. How long could these two actually keep this up? At that thought… he digresses. “Since you two are so set on breaking every glass in this building, how about you take your shenanigans outside instead before I _really_ have to ground both parties?” God, please leave, that’s all he can hope for. If they leave, he won’t have to intervene at all. There’s plenty of room on the beach for a chase, right? Get out of here.

“You hear that Yang? If you want ‘em, come and get ‘em!” she yells, throwing her arms out, letting the cereal rattle within its box before she turns on her heels. She runs into and completely knocks over another girl, landing on top of her and causing the cereal box to go sliding towards the door. It lands at the feet of someone standing at the bar’s entrance, whose red curls bounce as she takes the box into her hands.

 

Ruby groans as she lays on top of the person she knocked over.

Between a warm greeting… “Salutations, Ruby!” 

 

… and a loud, irate shout of “You _idiot!_ Just what do you think you’re doing? Get OFF of me!” from Weiss, Ruby’s feeling oddly claustrophobic. Her need for fresh air only grows by the second as the girl beneath her continues babbling, babbling, angrily babbling about... 

Oh. “Ohhhhh. You want me to stand up,” she murmurs quietly, delayed.

“Yes!” Weiss snaps, gently shoving at Ruby’s chest. “Off. Now!”

Yang shoves a fistful of artificial pumpkin between amused lips. “You deserve this, sis.” The taste of victory always proves sweet for her, and with all of her clumsy parkour, her feet were bound to misstep eventually. Ruby rolls off of her friend with a small ‘oof,’ her eyes shut tight as she inches up into a sitting position.

“Listen, I am not here for your petty disputes. I’m here to go shopping with you, like you asked!” Her hands grasp at the petticoat beneath her sundress, then daintily swipe at nonexistent dust.

“Oh! Right!” Ruby hops to her feet before tugging Weiss’s hands into her own, smile wide and bright and full of all the things that are right with the world as she bounces up and down on her heels, babbling away. At some point, she turns to look at Qrow, saying something while giving a brief wave and tugging a flustered Weiss and Penny after her. Yang stares at her uncle, placing the cereal on the shelf before jogging after her sister and her friends, pulling her hair back into a high ponytail. 

Qrow doesn’t wanna admit that he’s thankful for the temporary silence when they’re gone. He loves his kids, he loves their friends, loves all their happiness and joy, he swears. But today he’s not feeling particularly happy or joyful, and that’s why the lucky half hour between his next wave of customers feels like an oasis.

Everyone smiles in the summer, right? His customers all smile, and the children they bring with them all covered in sand smile, and the skies above rain joyous beams of sunshine down upon the earth. The more he contemplates this season, the more suffocated he feels, and for a short while there’s no placing why. He tosses fries in the frier, feels summer heat compounded by hot oil fumes, sweats so much that maybe he’ll choke on the sensations in the air, and wonders why he can’t give even half a damn about being happy.

Of course, he realizes pretty quickly what’s wrong as he takes a brief break, splashes water from an old rusted bathroom sink onto his face to cool himself down. Maybe that action helps him wash away the perpetual denial that clogs his chest, because there’s no reason for Qrow to smile without _his_ Summer. All the giddy celebration in the world won’t ever equate her. Nothing could ever match Summer Rose, and as he reluctantly checks the calendar that clings to the wall beside the smudged bathroom mirror, he hopes to some god that doesn’t exist for a miracle. Slow, dull eyes flicker across the glass, but he doesn’t need a mirror to know how worn he looks the minute he doesn’t have to put on his customer service smile.

There is no miracle. Today’s the anniversary. Every year since then, he’s tried without fail to forget. But there is no forgetting. Not for long, anyway.

It’s the sound of something crashing to the floor in the main room that pulls him out of his thoughts. A swear leaves his lips as he moves into the dining area, eyes narrowing as he scans the table. His footsteps are heavy as he walks over to the bar, and he notices something slide across the floor just out of his line of sight. Qrow’s eyes flicker down, and he notices that a pile of coasters has been knocked over from the cabinet. As he stoops down to take them into his hands -- he’s getting too old for this, this is what he has the girls for -- he comes face to face with a black, tailless cat.

A warm chuckle leaves Qrow’s throat as he rest his elbows on his knees, worn coasters in one hand as he reaches out to stroke the cat with the other. The beast moves, bristling its fur in displeasure before settling back on its haunches before hopping up on the countertop. Usually Qrow would be moving to grab the nearest source of water to get the creature to flee, but... 

“Look at that. It’s the only customer of mine that doesn’t pay.” he snorts, groaning softly as he rises to his feet before dropping the coasters back down in the basket they came from. He’s getting too old for this. “You’re lucky I like you, cat.” He’s trying hard not to smile, but he can’t help it when the cat’s stub of a tail twitches while it tucks its legs under itself, eyes wide as it stares up at Qrow. This happens every so often, the cat would come in, cause some kind of mess to get his attention, and then wait for him to give it some sort of offering so it would leave.  
Eventually it became sort of a routine, and now Qrow purposefully leaves the little bits of fish that no one wants to eat in the fridge for the cat. He’s not really a feline kinda guy, but if the cat keeps the mice and snakes out of his backyard, Qrow’s not going to complain. 

 

He rolls his shoulders as he crouches back down, opening the mini-fridge he keeps the ice in to pull out a can of tuna. The metal makes a groaning noise as he opens it, placing the can on the counter as he chucks the lid into the trashcan. The cat rumbles happily, pressing its nose against the can as Qrow props himself up against the countertop with his elbows. One of his rough fingers reach out to poke at the stub of a tail the feline has, and he chuckles, a smirk growing on his face when he gets a small hiss in protest.

The rest of the day is a blurr. Customers come in, customers come out, the girls and their friends show up at some point to commandeer one of the larger tables to play some board game about monsters and kingdoms that he couldn’t wrap his head around if he tried. Even though the air outside gets colder with the setting sun, the humidity remains. Sweat runs down the nape of his neck, and he swears under his breath as he locks up the shop for the night. He holds the key in his hand, letting the brass dig into an old scar that runs along the inside of his of his palm. Qrow takes a breath, curls his fingers around the key and shoves it into his pocket as he turns on his heel. Pulling his flask out of his back pocket, Qrow unscrews the cap with his thumb and tips his head back to let the burning taste of scotch run down his throat. 

Qrow decides that the moment he gets home, he’s going on a run. With the girls safe and sound in bed and his head a wreck of tipsy thoughts and regrets, he charges forward through the beginnings of rain. Thankfully, he’s out of his work uniform. No aprons hold him back right now, and the rhythm of shoes that clash against concrete fills him with an emotion that rings less somber.

Since the sidewalk fills with crowds and chaos even at this hour, he takes a detour down into the sand. And since his shoes are rapidly filling with awful sandy particles, he kicks them off and swears to come back for them later. Normally he’d turn back, but there’s a groove going between him, the disruptive ocean waves, the darkening clouds and distant clatter of lightning, and his heavy heartbeat.

All that fills his mind at every turn, every brush of bare feet against wet clumps of sand, every encounter of shells and gulls is her. Summer. Frankly, she was never much of a summer person at all. He pegged her as more of a Spring, an Autumn, or even a Winter than a Summer, because those were seasons of life, growth, gathering. He thinks to the cups of cocoa they’d shared by the fireplace, huddled close with each other for warmth, thinks of how much she loved flowers and orange leaves and the crisp breeze against her skin. Summer wasn’t much of a summer, not with all those hot hoodies and soft, thick blankets she loved. Still, he supposes the name at least suited her personality. She was warm, lit up the world like the sun above, impossible to ignore, laughter contagious.

That’s why he runs. Summer’s always why. Every late night, nightmare-fueled excursion always leads back to her, to her smile, to the crash, to the way Tai looked her in the eyes like they were stars, to the crash, to the scent of warm chocolate chip cookies left on the kitchen countertop for the girls, to the crash, to the barely registered weight of her head against his shoulder when they hugged, to the crash, to the crash, to the crash. Everything always leads back to the crash. He left her behind that year, didn’t he? Left himself, too, or whatever was left of him in the first place, and now the season ebbs in and out without the warmth he so desperately craves, needs. Summer brought the sun that lit the moon to every last life she’d ever shined on.

Heavy feet thunk against heavier wood, and although some part of him registers that old piers may lead to painful splinters, he keeps running. He doesn’t think of the possibility that he may slip and fall off as the rain picks up, splatters against his cheeks, soaks his hair and all. All he thinks instead is about how much he needs Summer Rose right now. He wants her to see how tall the girls are now, to help him braid their hair, to place herself in his arms and tell him she’ll always be there.

The only reason he stops is because he’s run out of pier. But then, as though defying the clouds that roll and groan overhead, his fists curl, his knees bend slightly, and water washes over him from toe to head. Cold, sure, but cutting in all the right ways. Sometimes, discomfort brings clarity, and with nothing but dark waters and his own thoughts behind closed lids, he swears he can see her face again, right in front of him. Soft jaw, warm eyes crinkled by warmer laughter, short hair that barely kisses her neck…

Qrow’s lost. So very lost. He’s an idiot, he knows that, but the only thing that makes him pressingly aware of his idiocy is the fact that there’s some force angrily conspiring to keep his head below the waves. Of course he knows about rip currents, knows all about why going for a swim under storm conditions never really was a smart plan. But he needed to feel something, feel anything, feel her, just one more time. So as he’s desperately flailing for the surface, managing to at least find purchase on a supporting wooden pillar, he achieves through his panic a vague satisfaction. Maybe life wouldn’t give Summer back, but at the very least, life couldn’t stop him from remembering. He’s not going to pretend things are okay, not for a minute. He’ll remember her until his final breath, and her name may as well be carved into his ashes. Summer Rose.

 

The name burns his throat as a wave crashes over his head, trying to suffocate him, but his bitten nails dig into the wooden pillars that sink into the ocean, holding him steady as he gasps for air. It’s a rush. All of this is a rush. Qrow feels his heart pounding in his chest, in his throat, and he chuckles.

 

Then he laughs. 

 

He laughs, he laughs, and it’s bitter and loud and tastes like all the things he hates about this damned world since Summer left it. Another laugh cuts off prematurely, breaking way for a sob that’s covered up by water and the way Qrow’s hand moves to covers his eyes.  
He’s weak. He’s so, so fucking weak. He can hold it together for the girls. He can hold it together for Tai. He could hold it together during the funeral, the way they lowered her into the ground and the way he had to practically scruff Tai to keep the bastard from jumping down there with her. But the minute he’s alone, he breaks.  
His eyes are shut tight as his tears run down his cheeks which burn from his grin. Mixing with the rain water, the tears drop down into the dark, inky waters of the sea that swish around his shoulders, lapping at his neck and threatening to swallow him whole.  
It all goes quiet. The waves slightly slap against his face, and he’s starting to shiver when he hears the sound similar to rain hitting a tarp. A light shines down on his face, and Qrow squints up into it, hand still blocking his eyes.

“... Excuse me, sir. Did you fall in?” 

Huh. How calm. Between the thunder that crackles in the distance and the waves that rise higher than his head, the calm in this man’s voice finds no purchase. Like fitting a square peg into a round hole.

Then again, maybe he’s projecting. This stranger stands slightly further above his head than he had in mind, and that could certainly be making him even more anxious, right? “Nope,” he replies, not really interested in lying, “but I sure as hell don’t wanna _stay_ in, that’s for sure.” His voice cracks, but hopefully the other man doesn’t hear, and frankly, the odds are with him; he has to call over both sea and storm to be heard. “Mind giving me a hand?”

The man raises an eyebrow down at Qrow, and Qrow’s tempted to give the guy an eyeroll in return, except he doesn’t want to be stranded in the waters until dawn. After a beat of silence, there’s a nod from the white haired man before he turns to look out at the sea, giving a slight tilt of his head before looking back down at Qrow. 

“Of course.” Is the response he gets after a long while, and Qrow’s opening his mouth to retort -- “The waves should lift you high enough for you to reach my hand.” The man keeps the large golf umbrella that he’s holding balanced on one shoulder as he walks down the pier a couple of feet from Qrow. “Unless you’d like me to call the authorities to come and fish you out if you feel like you can’t withstand the waves any longer.” 

Normally he’d laugh, but instead a pointed look is all he manages. “I’m not exactly a fan of law enforcement, buddy. Besides, there’s no way you can’t reach me.” Teeth clack and chatter and grind as he clings to the pier’s bumpy surface, palm accidentally grazing a nail. Fuck. That hurts, but he’s not really in a position to check out the damage right now.

The water swells under his arms and Qrow lets go of the pole that’s been holding him afloat for the past ten minutes. He can feel his chest fill with air as he grips the man’s wrist, fingers clinging to cold skin that’s decorated with a collection of little braided string bracelets. He feels the stranger’s fingers wrap around his wrist in turn, and he gives Qrow a tug as he pulls him out of the water.

 

Qrow’s bare toes wiggle against the pier as he stands under the man’s umbrella. After giving Qrow a once over with his eyes, the only thing that comes out of the stranger’s lips is a quiet hum. An amused sounding hum.

 

It’s smug.

 

Qrow hates it.

 

Another pause separates the two before the stranger speaks again.  
“May... I ask where your shoes are, sir?”

 

Qrow raises his palm in easy deflection, blood slowly flowing now that the ocean no longer factors in. “That’s currently the least of my problems, but thanks for asking.” He takes careful effort not to stutter, because with every breath the winds take, he feels himself slowly but surely becoming a human ice cube. “Look, thanks for getting me outta there, but I really should be going.” And he should, mostly, but there’s a part of him that worries for his own state of mind if he’s on his own tonight. He worries even more for Tai, but he represses that thought as quickly as it comes. Tai’s not one to talk about that, and Qrow’s not gonna make him, either.

“Going to find your shoes, I’m assuming?” the man replies with a smile, one eyebrow raising in a knowing manner. “In this weather?” Qrow’s already half turned on his heel, though he stops, red rimmed eyes widening as he places his hands on his hip. Only to take them off a few seconds later when his hands burn in protest. Blood, right. He’s bleeding.  
Not that it matters, this shirt is trashed.

“Why don’t I join you, at the least? The last thing we need is for you to leap back into the ocean.”

“Who said I’m gonna do that?” Then again, part of him finds the offer tempting. 

“Humans are creatures of habit, sir.” He raises another eyebrow, amused smile still on his lips. Qrow’s eyes narrow, tilting his head slightly before he blinks at the realization that this man probably watched him take the bellyflop of the century into the harbor. Qrow opens his mouth to snap back, but-- “At any rate, allow me to walk you home.” 

For a beat or two he hesitates, then realizes how empty his chest feels. He’s not going to wake up the girls at this hour since he’s not irresponsible enough for that, but he definitely could use someone. Kind strangers are rare enough, but someone that’s weirdly willing to stand here and get himself soaked for some guy that took a dive off the pier definitely wouldn’t make for a bad conversation. “Actually,” he clears his throat as his lashes rapidly flutter, banishing another embarrassing wave of tears down his cheeks that the other man couldn’t possibly notice in the rain, “Why don’t I make you some tea or something? Least I can do after you fished me out of that glorified salt puddle, isn’t it?” And he almost smiles.

Qrow gets a laugh in response as the man moves to hold the umbrella over both of them. 

“I’ve heard the ocean called many things, but... ‘glorified salt puddle’ is a new one... mister...?” the stranger prods, glancing over at Qrow who’s trying his damndest not to stumble.

“Qrow.” he says after nearly stubbing his toe on the pier railing. His new acquaintance lets out a sigh in response, and he moves to steady him with an arm around his chest. Qrow grumbles. He doesn’t need the help, but he isn’t going to reject it either, not when the guy has free license to shove him right back into the ocean waters.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Qrow.” the man replies, his voice calm, even. “My name is Ozpin.”


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being safely pulled from the ocean, Qrow heads home with Ozpin close behind.

There’s a trail of soggy regret on the sidewalk pavement as Qrow’s sweatpants and tank top drip absolutely everywhere. He’s not much of a gambling kind of guy, but he’d bet everything in this world that the giant man behind him’s either smiling, wants to, or couldn’t help himself for how ridiculous this picture holds; two guys waltzing down neat, tidy residence rows, one soaked to the brim and the other protected from head to toe. Ozpin’s got a green scarf, slacks, long sleeves, a warm jacket, and this aura of complete ease in his walk. But Qrow? Qrow’s got ten minutes ‘til hypothermia in his books, and if company weren’t behind him, he’d sprint for the warmth of his home and leave him in the dust.

He’s cradling his hand, squinting down at the wound that’s torn the bottom half of his palm open. For a moment, he considers if he needs to go to the hospital, while shifting his non bleeding hand to his back pocket to grab his flask, only to belatedly realize that he left it at home in his bedroom drawer.

“Damn.” he grumbles, and Ozpin’s eyes flicker over to him.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he says. But it’s not nothing. The temporary absence of alcohol may as well be the icing on this clusterfuck of a cake that is currently his life, like the final domino in a row of thousands. It’s small, it’s insignificant, but it’s just enough to piss him off right now. “Sorry that I’m not talking much,” he manages, teeth still clacking, skin still ice. “Kinda freezing to death here.”

Ozpin’s eyes widen for a moment, and his pace slows just enough that he doesn’t come to a sudden stop. His lips part before they press together, and he loops the tails of his scarf around his neck a second time before he moves to unzip his jacket.  
“I’m sorry. It slipped my mind.” 

 

The warmth of the fur lined coat makes the tension bleed out of his shoulders. He grips it instantly, not even bothering to utter a thank you until the jacket is zipped up around his torso, hands brushing against the worn leather as he jams his hands into the pockets.  
He feels a phone, something that feels like a few dollars in cash and some odd change when he balls up his freezing fingers. 

“You didn’t have to,” he manages. Qrow’s not one to expect anything from anyone, and as his tremors calm, he silently reminds himself that there’s not a damn person in the world that owes him a single thing. This guy doesn’t even have to be here right now, not really.

“But I wanted to, Qrow. It’s what any decent human being would do.” Ozpin responds quickly, his voice firm. It makes Qrow almost jump before he nods, closing his eyes for a moment while rolling his shoulders.  
“Well… guess I’ll take it back, then.” He realizes that he’s talking to himself, then responds to himself, decidedly not caring. “Had a thought cross my mind about how smug you are. I don’t even know you, Oz.” But, in an instant, he’s nicknamed him the same way he’s nicknamed everyone else in his life. Firecracker, Petal, Jimmy. The list goes on. He nicknames customers, door-to-door salesmen and evangelicals, his mailman… old habits kinda die hard.

Ozpin laughs under his breath, shaking his head while moving to run his fingers over the end of the scarf that escaped being tucked under the rest of it. His fingers play with the tassels, and Qrow notes that Ozpin’s fingernails are tinged blue in the moonlight.

“Well, if you make judgements that quickly, I would hate to hear your opinion on the mailman.”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Oz.” He can feel his arm shift to reach back for his flask, and Qrow has to mentally kick himself. Old habits do die hard.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t the slightest bit curious.” Ozpin says, fingers stopping, still tangled in the strings as his gaze wanders off. Qrow’s eyes follow, but he doesn’t see anything that could be grabbing his attention that much. “So, how long have you been crying, Qrow?” 

“Fuck,” he mutters, disheartened. Sinking stomachs aren’t unfamiliar to him, but this one catches him off-guard. He curses, because he could’ve sworn that there was no way for him to notice, but honestly? That was nothing but denial rearing its ugly face, because his eyes are definitely a puffy red, and he dove straight into storm waters without a second thought. There’s no other reason for this man to be following him, and in fact, he’ll be lucky if he’s not contemplating calling the paramedics on his ass. 

“Not sure,” he finally answers, because if he counts all the times he’s almost broken down today in that number, the answer’s definitely ‘all day,’ and that would solidify this man’s finger on the hospital’s speed dial. “I’m not gonna do anything,” he repeats again, tone flat, “so I don’t think that’s something you should be concerned about.”

And he’s not. He’s got two kids to look after. But he realizes how this looks, he does, and it ain’t good.

“If you wanted to do something, you wouldn’t have let me pull you out of the water.” Ozpin states, shoulders rising and falling nonchalantly. “So I’m not too concerned at the moment.”  
Qrow takes a breath, pulling his hand out of the warm pockets and rubbing it over his eyes as he exhales.

“Then what _are_ you concerned about, Oz?” Qrow grumbles, fingers massaging his nose and the space around his eyes. “What, some perfect stranger gets himself soaking wet, and all of a sudden you wanna check out his interior decorating skills?”

“I imagine your interior decorating skills will remain the same whether I comment on them or not, Qrow.” A sigh leaves his lips before his amber eyes flicker away, staring at the rows of similar looking houses that pass by with each step. He wants to say more, Qrow can feel it, and it makes him hiss through his teeth for a second.

“Then why are you _here_?” It’s harsher than he means it to be, and Qrow watches as Ozpin’s jaw shifts, squaring for a brief moment before loosening. 

Silence fills the space between the two.

Qrow lets his shoulders slump forward, letting his hands bury deep into his pockets as he glares out in front of him. He shouldn’t be snapping at this guy, but he’s cold and pissed off and he wants his flask and he wants to _not_ be soaking wet or shivering but here he is anyway.  
“If you would like me to leave, Qrow, I am more than happy to.” Ozpin finally says, though his voice is less warm than it was before. “I simply thought it would be best to walk you home.”

Great. He fucked up not even a few minutes into meeting someone new, which reflects his relationships on the whole, really. ‘Course, the situation isn’t exactly ideal, and from Ozpin’s perspective Qrow’s cordial one minute and lashing out the next, which must make the situation even less ideal. 

Takes a while, but after a minute or so of silence, he feels the pride and anger subside just enough to manage a soft, “I know. I’m sorry, Ozpin. It’s really not you, alright? And I’m not one for excuses, but somebody died today.” The way that leaves his lips simplifies the issue, and he hates that. ‘Somebody died.’ The rain falls, the sky is dark, the ocean is blue. The way that sounds makes him want to vomit, and he doesn’t care to process why. 

“Not an excuse,” he repeats, “But maybe it’ll make you hate me a little less if you ever look back on this. I’m not exactly at the top of my game today.” Like the precious seconds after thunder, his voice rasps, crackles as he coughs, body bending slightly with the brief convulsion. God, he really might puke. But if there’s any god up there, he prays that for once the worst case scenario won’t give way to something even darker. Or that, at the very least, he won’t lose his lunch on this poor guy’s jacket.

Qrow feels Ozpin’s hand slide against his back, rubbing circles into the leather of the well worn coat. He feels weak. He’s a guy. Guys don’t _need_ comfort and they sure as hell don’t seek it out, but Qrow doesn’t bother shaking Ozpin’s hand off of him. Ozpin doesn’t say anything as he hacks, as he sputters for air, as his burning hand runs against his mouth, leaving a red streak from the blood across his cheek and chapped lips.

“You don’t have to apologize for your grief.” Ozpin mumbles, hand lingering on Qrow’s back long after his body stopped trying to turn itself inside out. “I understand.” Ozpin’s voice is quiet, losing that harsh edge of certainty that Qrow’s already associated him with. He slowly pulls his hand from Qrow’s back, moving to gently catch his wrist, eyes flickering down to examine the blood still seeping from the gash. “Please, Qrow, allow me to help you in your time of need.” Qrow feels himself start to bristle, but Ozpin waves it off with a flick of his hand, the umbrella shaking with the motion. “Besides. That is the wonderful thing about strangers. You will never see them again, so there’s no harm in confiding in them.”

“Not gonna lie to you, Oz. I’m not so sure about that.” As far as he’s concerned he’s at a breaking point, and Ozpin has no one to tell. But even still, hesitance clogs his chest and crawls right up his throat. He’s not so sure if he’s willing to confide in him about something that’s never even met Taiyang’s ears, something his own family can’t talk about for fear of breaking down all over again. This man’s a stranger, and the default for strangers is distance and distrust for him. Always has been, and probably always will be.

That’s how he knows he’s at his wits end: he hates people, but he’s letting the first sap that found him in the water stroll right on into his private life.

A single lonely, deep exhale, and Qrow’s hugging himself a little tighter. He finally sees his doorstep, and for that, he’s eternally grateful. “I’m… not really used to talking to most people, Oz. So if you’re expecting some kinda world class conversationalist, you’ve probably got another thing coming.” That’s not to say by any means that Qrow’s bad at small talk, but there’s definitely a lesser burden when he’s with the girls, Taiyang, Ironwood… people he knows and trusts rather than this convenient stranger.

He can hear Ozpin chuckle behind him, and Qrow grumbles under his breath. 

 

Without caution, he jams the key into the lock, already hearing Jimmy reading him the riot act. That dog could wake up the entire neighborhood if left unchecked, he swears, and he’s immediately sorry for the girls as he tosses the door open. Yang could sleep through an Earthquake, but Ruby’s probably stuffed her head deeper into her pillow fortress.

Qrow can feel Ozpin peeking over his shoulder as he pushes open the door, one hand out to push back the snout pressing against his stomach. His dog lets out a chorus of whines and snorts, tail whipping back and forth as he tries to crawl on top of Qrow. 

“Jimmy. Hey, hey, buddy, _no--_ ”

Qrow would be fine with the dog trying to jump on top of him, except when standing on his hind legs, Jimmy comes up to his shoulders. He can’t help but grin as the dog licks at his face, still whining as Qrow wraps his arms around the great dane. Ozpin closes the umbrella he was carrying on the doorstep before entering the home, letting it rest nearby the door before shutting it behind him. 

“... you have a dog, Qrow?” Ozpin asks, staring at the massive pet before him before taking off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I never imagined you--!” Ozpin takes a sharp breath, and Jimmy lets out the biggest growl Qrow’s ever heard in his life -- it’s enough to nearly run him out of his own skin.

“Jimmy. _Come on._ What’s gotten into you, huh? Come on, boy.” Qrow’s fingers curl around a thick red collar, and with care he leads his best friend down to the ground and off into the dark abyss of his home, flipping light switches as he goes. Loudly, with ample whining, the giant grey lump twists and turns in his grip, occasionally attempting to lap at his wounded palm to the displeasure of his owner. He loves Jimmy’s affection, but this is more mess than he bargained for.

Unhappy yapping, whining, growling and tugging means that there’s no way in hell he’s going to manage getting him upstairs to his own bedroom. Instead, the only real option is to shove poor Jimmy off into the bathroom. Not to be defeated, he keeps barking, barking, barking… Qrow’s close to losing his head when he hears the girls’ bedroom door slowly creak.

“I’ve got it, Uncle Qrow.” Less enthusiastic than usual, Ruby emerges, eyes thick with sleep and impatience, her usual pep replaced with exhaustion. And instantly, Qrow feels like a dick, because that’s exactly what he didn’t want. Her brows furrow as she belatedly takes in his appearance, still fighting sleep. “Heyyy… why are you all… drippy?”

Qrow’s not answering that. He can barely hear her over Jimmy’s bark resonating through wooden walls. “No, no, Petal, I got this. You just…”

A shrug, a heel turn. The bathroom door opens and closes, and then within a few moments all sound ceases from within. Well, almost all sound; there are a few faint, sleepy mumbles and hushed, soothing whispers, not audible at this point.

There’s not really a spare moment to check on Ozpin’s whereabouts, because he’s soaked, tired, wearing a stranger’s jacket, and has an undoctored wound to top everything off. Instead, he marches up stairs that creak more than he’d like them to now that everything’s fallen to a hush to the attic door that holds his entire life. His bedroom, after all, is nothing more than clothes heaped behind his door, unused hand-me-down kitchen appliances on bookcase shelves, Summer’s old knickknacks, and photos that are dustier than Qrow himself. He locks eyes with his favorite while he slugs off his clothes, one hung high above his head just before the ceiling begins to vault: a younger, carefree Summer caught mid-laugh with eyes bright, and the smallest, cutest girl in the world fast asleep in her arms.

His chest hurts. This time, he’s not searching for it, either.

Then he’s gone as quickly as he can be, facing away, worms on a clean pair of sweats with one hand as he hurries out the bedroom door. Ozpin’s jacket is a mess, pocket bloodied and inside soaked, so he might offer to wash that for him if he hasn’t run for the hills yet. He calls toward the front door as stumbling feet find the stairs’ base, “What was that about not making assumptions, Oz?” Anything to change his mind’s current subject for a minute or two.

… But he’s nowhere to be found, and for a minute, Qrow swears he left as quickly as he appeared. He’s about to go and find some damn gauze and hobble back upstairs to face his fears alone when a sharp clatter sounds from the kitchen.

Qrow pokes his head into the room, where he finds Ozpin holding a kettle in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. The man turns to face him, placing the box on the counter while gently pulling the top of the kettle off with his free hand. 

“... you didn’t seem like the type of person to have a dog, that’s all.” 

Qrow rolls his eyes, because out of all of the possible stereotypes Oz could be pulling from right now, he’s _clearly_ a dog person. His footsteps are heavy as he walks further into his kitchen, passing the fridge that’s decorated in all kinds of magnets and pictures of his girls before taking the kettle out of Ozpin’s hands.

“Anyway, Oz. I told you I’ve got it covered. I’m the one that invited you over for tea, not the other way around.”

“While that is true, you were also bleeding. And still are, by the looks of it.” Qrow swears softly as he places the kettle aside, grumbling as he reaches for the paper towels. After wadding one up and shoving it into his palm, he turns to see Ozpin giving him a look. He’s not sure what it is at first, but when Ozpin’s eyebrow quirks upward, Qrow knows _exactly_ what it is. He’s scolding him. 

“Do you mind if I look at your hand, Qrow?” the man softly asks, holding out his hand for Qrow to put his into. Qrow grumbles, hissing under his breath when he curls his hand into a fist. 

“I wasn't aware that you were given the go-ahead to snoop through my kitchen, Oz. You’re not my nanny.” He mumbles under his breath, eyes narrowing as he reluctantly shoves his hand toward Ozpin. Usually he wouldn’t do this, but what he’s learned from Ozpin already tells him that he’s not going to take no for an answer. Ozpin takes Qrow’s hand into his own, gentle fingers opening Qrow’s and plucking the wad of paper out of his palm. Amber eyes glance over the wound, quickly assessing the damage before he opens his mouth.

“About that, Qrow. While you were occupied, I decided to go ahead and clean your living room.” Qrow blinks, and before he can counter, Ozpin’s speaking again. “Are you aware that you have splinters? Do you happen to have tweezers in your medicine kit as well?”

Guarded, his eyes dart away. He hates splinters, but would probably hate an infection even more, so he replies quietly, “Kitchen drawer to the far right.” 

Nervous fingers rake through thick, dark hair as he takes a seat on the couch, and within moments the other man is at his side, brows quirked, gaze asking permission. After a gruff nod, his free fist curls, eyes closed as his wrist becomes gently held in place. “I could easily do this myself, y’know.” His tone grows terse as he feels Ozpin get to work.

“You’re tense,” the other man retorts, “And as I said, I am simply here to assist.” The grip on his wrist tightens just enough when the other man jumps, startled by a sudden change in pressure, and Ozpin truly does not mean to laugh at him for it, but the image is so ill fitting. Here sits a man who surely prides himself on self sufficiency, who bravely and perhaps stupidly -- rashly, corrects the softer, kinder depths of Ozpin’s mind -- charged ahead into the dangers of a storm. And yet, at the mere sight of tweezers, he recoils as though struck. “Qrow,” he begins, voice low and warm in his chest, “I don’t suppose you’re a fan of doctor’s visits?”

That gains him a short chuckle. “Nope. Can’t say I’ve been in the past year.”

“Surely you should have slightly more regard for your health than that.” Qrow can hear the frown in his tone, envisions the tug of the other man’s brow behind heavy lids as he feels one, two, three -- damn, how many splinters are there? -- tugged up and away. While not uncomfortable, the sensation isn’t exactly pleasant, and he’s set on not looking.

“Oz.” One eye slowly cracks open, trained on Ozpin’s disapproving look. “‘Regard’ for my health ain’t exactly my biggest accomplishment at the moment. Or are you forgetting what I just pulled?”

“No,” comes the response after a few beats of silence. “And I would like to know why you did it.”

“If it’ll make you feel any better, I wasn’t trying to drown,” he says for the thousandth time, and Ozpin sighs.

“I am not here for my sake, Qrow. So please, do not try to reassure me again.” There’s a sudden grin as he pulls the last bloodied splinter from the man’s skin, as though remembering an inside joke. “Though, yes. I suppose it does make me feel better that you were not trying to mash yourself into a pulp.”

Not exactly a pleasant image, but definitely a probable one. Brutal waves, pointed rocks, and the edges of an old pier don’t exactly create a pretty canvas. “Well, gee. What a lovely description, Oz.”

“Must you call me that?” When there’s no response, he fills the silence with another laugh. “Regardless, perhaps the mental image will prevent further pier-related stunts in the near future.” Disinfectant stings at the other man’s open wound, and he hears his voice break, quickly muffled into his hand like it didn’t happen, followed by a string of unholy curses hissed without abandon under his breath. “I know,” he murmurs soothingly. “I know.”

 

There’s another bout of silence as Qrow’s curses pitter off. The only sound between them is Ozpin tugging at the medical tape after he’s pressed the gauze into Qrow’s hand. While he’s wrapping the wound, Qrow glances away, examining all of the work that Oz’s done to his former wreck of a living room. Usually, he doesn’t really bother with cleaning unless it’s a safety hazard or if someone he cares about shows up, and even then Qrow’s cleaning usually amounts to him kicking things under the couch and shoving items into the drawers of the television stand. (He cleans up for Taiyang, because if he didn’t he’d probably strangle him. No one that houses his girls is allowed to let the place get completely trashed.) 

Ozpin’s neatly folded the blankets that were strewn over the couch, laying them across the back and the recliner that rests under the window. He’s tossed all of Jimmy’s toys into the giant dog bed that takes over the corner beside the television, all of Ruby’s board games are stacked up and placed on the shelves under the T.V., and any plates that were left out have probably been placed into the sink. “Qrow?” 

Qrow grunts in response, eyes wide as he glances back over to Ozpin. His hand curls, now bandaged and smarting a hell of a lot less. 

“Yeah?” Qrow responds, settling back against the couch with both of his hands resting on his knees. He grips them for a moment, testing how much pressure he can put on his new wound, which isn’t much. The most he can make is a loose fist.

“... You never responded. If you weren’t trying to drown, why did you jump?”

Silently, Qrow yearns for the flask he left in his bedroom drawer before his run. “Pretty sure we left the tea in the kitchen,” he manages.

“Qrow.” Nothing rests in his heart but concern and curiosity. Nothing more, and nothing less. However… “Don’t feel obligated. If it is too personal, then there is no need for--”

“No,” he murmurs, voice strained, like he’s trying to hold something deep inside himself, something sharp, too painful to surface. “No, it’s fine. I want something to drink first, alright? That’s all.” 

And as he rises to pour his own cup, Ozpin has the good sense not to offer assistance, though he follows behind to grab one for himself. Sometimes, stillness only brews anxiety, heightens torment. Qrow yearns for a distraction, and finds one -- however temporary -- in the sound of steaming water rising to fill his cup. He stiffly tosses in a tea bag, not really paying attention to the flavor, and stirs at it with a spoon as he returns to the couch, head down, focused on the way warm green infuses through the clear liquid, swirling.

Ozpin’s back at the cushion beside him soon enough. Qrow sets his mug down to cool, puts his chin in his palm, and decides that thinking too hard on how much he wants to share’s only going to make this more complicated. So, eventually, he starts by repeating what he said earlier. “Someone died today.” And he feels whatever has been concealed within his chest break forth for a moment, eyes fluttering closed as he fights a losing battle. “And all I really wanted was…” he chokes, and the tears flow whether he wants them to or not, uninvited and omnipresent. “To see her again. That’s all.” His hands curl into the cushions, nails numb from the pressure, head dipped forward softly as he tries so hard to pacify the void within him so that he doesn’t have to let this stranger see him fall to pieces.

But he cannot, for the life of him, make himself stop. Instead, the more effort he places into quelling his sobs, the more his chest aches and stabs and splinters, heavier than he’s ever known. There’s no way for a living man to know how death feels, but this surely must be similar, with one important difference: death yields peace and stillness. Qrow feels neither. No, perhaps this is what hell might feel like, if he ever believed in one. His world ends, and ends, and ends, and nothing he can do will ever make him feel peace.

When Ozpin touches Qrow’s shoulder all he can do is let out a strained hiss as he breathes in air that burns his lungs. He moves to cover his face with his bandaged hand, as if that could somehow stop the knives that dig into every inch of his throat and eyes and chest, tugging and ripping and tearing until there’s nothing left. Ozpin’s hand squeezes his shoulder before moving it onto his back, rubbing comforting circles and saying nothing for the longest time.

The presence is comforting. That’s all Qrow can really ask for at this point. His tears slowly fade, but his breathing is still uneven as he sinks, elbows pressed against his knees and palms of his hands pressed against his eyes.

“.. It’s alright to feel, Qrow. No one is asking for you to be invincible.” 

Like he has a choice. There’s a laugh, almost. “Yang and Ruby… their dad shut down.” Out of respect, Taiyang’s name never crosses his lips. “I couldn’t shut down too, Oz. Wasn’t really afforded the option. I have no choice but to be invincible, because no one else around me can carry this.” His family… if he doesn’t keep them together, keep things moving… he worries that they’d all fall to pieces. That the only one to blame would be him. He has to be strong for the kids; that’s what adults do. And he has to be strong for Tai, because the man’s never going to find another wife, he swears. She was it. Summer was all.

“.. I didn’t say shut down, Qrow. I said that no one is asking for you to be _invincible._ Asking you not to express how you feel…” Ozpin pauses, moving to take a sip of his own mug of tea before continuing. “You might as well revoke everything that makes you human.” Qrow opens his mouth, but Ozpin’s hand slides across his back, comforting circles still rubbing into his bare skin. 

“You act as if letting yourself grieve will be the end of the world, Qrow. I assure you that it is anything but. You have the right to grieve, just as much as they do.” Another pause. Ozpin’s voice grows faint, uncertain for the first time since Qrow’s met him. “And... I imagine that if they were aware of the burden you were carrying, they would come to help you lift it.”

 

How is he supposed to tell him that he doesn’t want them to worry? That he doesn’t need anyone else caught up in this? They have their own shit to deal with, all three of them. Yang’s still bitter at Tai for the malfunction that landed them in his custody to begin with, Tai’s wracked with enough anguish and guilt to make any man buckle, and Ruby’s stuck in the middle with no idea what to think even after all this time. 

There was a time when Tai couldn’t even visit, afraid to look them all in the eyes, and that time wasn’t too long ago. If Qrow adds to any of that… it’ll topple. And he knows it. There’s a part of him that wants to tell this man that he’ll think it over, that he’ll express himself more, be kinder, more open. But that door’s not ready to open yet, held tightly by his worst fears, sealed by everything he’s never wanted to think about, demons he’s suppressed. Today was careless, and he tells himself that he won’t be opening that box again if this is what comes out to play.

He’s not moving, even after the tears quell, because something about Ozpin’s fingers against his back makes everything clearer, quieter. His desperate need to wipe away his tears finally incites the slow rise of his head from his hands and legs. Soft and unexpected, a pile of tissues rests on his thighs before he can even reach for the box, and there’s a brief disappointment in his chest as those fingers pull away.

And then, finally, he laughs, voice found again as he aggressively dabs at his cheeks, eyes, palms. “Maybe,” he breathes, chest slow, in and out, in and out. “I’ll think about what you said, Oz.” Noncommittal, but not a lie. He’ll run those words through his brain again and again until he decides what to do with them. While he’d like to completely disregard them, they hang too heavy in the air right now, too heavy in his heart, because there’s at least one thing he agrees with, weakly. “I do have the right.” And having that right is different than being immune from potentially negative outcomes.

After a moment of simply staring, perhaps in search of Qrow’s intentions, Ozpin responds with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to do anything, Qrow. Especially not right away. These things take time, unfortunately. Emotions are no simple matter.”

“You’re telling me.” Another laugh, another easier breath. If emotions were logical, he swears he’d have figured out how to deal with them years ago. He was an engineer, after all, and always will be. But the world’s not quantitative; it’s qualitative, messy, and filled with complexity that Qrow’s never quite wrapped his head around.

“I am.” Ozpin responds, the words making his lips quirk up into a small, knowing smile. And Qrow snorts faintly as he watches Ozpin glance down to the watch that’s nestled between the several bracelets that decorate his wrist. “If I may make one more suggestion, Qrow...”  
Qrow’s eyebrows quirk upwards.

“Yeah, Oz?”

“Are you aware that it’s currently four in the morning?” Ozpin states and Qrow nearly spits out his drink. Oz moves to take his now empty mug into his hand before reaching out for Qrow’s, who just pulls it closer to his chest. No, old man. He’s currently drinking this. “At any rate, I should be going. And you should go and get some rest.”

“Little late for that,” he mutters grumpily, dreading the idea of being awake in only two hours. Given that he’s also an old man, he’s way too old for missing that much sleep. Still, something’s better than nothing, right?

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my coat?” Already, Ozpin’s rising to search, but Qrow holds up a single finger before he slugs himself up the stairs and returns with the mildly bloodied, wet garment. When the man’s nose wrinkles, Qrow chuckles, shaking his head softly.

“I know,” he snorts. “I was thinking of washing this for you, but you’ve got too many personal belongings in there. Wouldn’t wanna fry your phone if I forgot to take it out.”

“Yes, well,” comes his muted sigh as he holds the soiled garment between two fingertips, “I suppose I did sign up for this the moment my coat was offered. If you don’t mind, may I at least borrow some cleaning supplies?”

“Pantry,” is all Qrow says, then turns to head up the stairs to bed.

“Qrow?” he calls out, confused. Was this man so exhausted that he was becoming careless? “Surely you should supervise my presence in your home.”

“Nope,” he retorts simply, grin growing on his face as he raises a brow. “If you really wanted to try anything, you would’ve by now. And you wouldn’t succeed.”

A careful, measured look says otherwise, but he supposes doubt and underestimation has always been his best friend, so Ozpin doesn’t argue. Instead he asks, “What makes you so certain?”

“Ruby’s faster than you, Yang’s into kickboxing, I’m stronger than I look, and Jimmy doesn’t let go when he starts biting.” A pause. “... And you’ve really helped me out today. Pretty sure you care too much to rob me, or pull anything else.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Qrow shrugs, downplaying his own words.

“A man you’ve only just met, alone in your home. You’d trust him.”

Qrow yawns, waving a dismissive hand as he turns and continues up the stairs, shoulders slacked. “If you’re not out by eight when the kids start getting dressed, Yang’s gonna think you broke in and kick your ass.” At the final step to his bedroom door, he pauses. “Thanks.” The word’s almost too soft for him to hear from downstairs, even in the silence. “For everything tonight.” He isn’t sure why, but that brings another grin to his lips, steady and bright.

The last thing Qrow hears before he makes it to the top of the staircase is: “You’re welcome, Qrow.”

When his head hits his pillow, he’s out immediately. 

There’s the gentle hum of voices from downstairs as Qrow rolls onto his back, light streaming in through the window and resting on his arm and leg. His head is pounding, and he can already tell that he’s overslept, but he’s too sore and tired and possibly hungover to care. He sits up, carding his hand through his hair, red eyes staring at the pictures lining the slope of his ceiling before he finally finds the motivation to roll out of bed. He cracks his knuckles as he walks towards the door, only stopping to pull a tank top out of his pile of clothes that he’s pretty sure isn’t dirty yet. He tugs that over his head and goes.

As he walks down the stairs, he can smell something sweet in the air, and it makes his eyebrows raise up as he pokes his head into the living room. 

“Good morning, Uncle Qrow!” Ruby speaks around a mouthful of waffles, Jimmy curled up on the couch with her and taking up the majority of the space. There’s some cartoon playing on the television screen, but he’s more focused on his kid as he leans forward to ruffle her hair. 

“Mornin’, kiddo. Who made the food?”

“Uhhhhhhh…” Ruby makes a face as she swallows what she had in her mouth. Her hand moves to grab at her ankle as she pulls her leg closer to her body. “I thought you or Yang did?”

There’s a loud clatter from the kitchen as Yang leans into the living room, bacon covering the plate in her hand. 

“Hi, Uncle Qrow.”

“Hey, Yang,” he grins, gently elbowing her as he makes his way over to grab a plate. Waffles, bacon, eggs… He leans in to mess up her hair, and she responds with an unhappy grumble, harshly elbowing him in response. He winces, but laughs, all in good fun.

“My hair’s already a mess, Uncle Qrow. Don’t make it any worse to comb out, okay?” With a faint huff she grabs a plate of her own, loading up on waffles and fruit. He doesn’t think anything’s amiss until Yang manages an exhausted smile and says, “Thanks for the food, Uncle Qrow. You overslept, by the way.”

And then he freezes. “Funny,” he mumbles under his breath, gaze quickly flickering to hers. “I was just about to thank you for the food, firecracker.”

“Uh, no way.” She shakes her head as her lips twist in confusion. “Sorry Uncle Qrow, but I just woke up. Ruby?”

“Already said I didn’t!” she calls from the living room.

“Weird,” he says, banishing any thoughts of the food having been poisoned from his mind. There’s no way to confirm what he’s assuming, and there’s no harm in the gesture either way, so he decides to let it go as he leans casually against the countertop, placing his unfilled plate to the side while Yang finishes making hers. Out of habit, he opens the fridge, not thinking twice about using his injured hand.

But there’s no pain.

He opens the fridge. No pain. He closes the fridge. No pain. Opens, closes, opens, closes, pokes, prods, experimentally slams against the wall, rips off all the bandages to make sure he isn’t crazy…

He isn’t crazy.

The wound healed.

And as Yang’s brows close together and she asks, “Hey, what’s wrong? Uncle Qrow?” his mind’s already elsewhere, across that rainy, sandy beach of yesterday, storm alive and lightning wild in the clouds. His mind’s already churning as he processes what little he remembers of his face, eyes soft amber, lips tugged warmly at the edges into a soft but friendly smile, grey hair framing worn cheeks. He remembers his attire, green scarf, umbrella drawn, warm coat, long sleeves, long slacks…

That man wasn’t there to take a swim.

He sure as hell wasn’t there to take a walk, not with that storm on the way. No one would be.

But he was there. At the right place, at the right time, Ozpin was there.

Qrow leans against the countertop. The edge digs into his back as he stares at his hand, eyes narrowed sharply.

“What the hell?”


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby unexpectedly picks up her close friend after visiting her mom. Meanwhile, Qrow confides in someone dear and finds that answers are difficult to come by.

The wind breathes this morning, blowing over the waves, running through the narrow streets, tugging at hair and clothes as if beckoning people to come and play. The town itself is quiet. It’s a little too early for anything to be open, a little too early for anyone who doesn’t have anything to do to be up and about. 

Gravel crunches beneath the tires of a well-used bike as pale fingers wrap around metal handles. Black sneakers press into the ground and stop the bike off the side of the winding path. Ruby stretches, placing the bike against a faded stone sign that’s partly covered in creeping ivy, before making her way up the hill.

Graves of varying ages fill the graveyard. Any resident that lived in this town also died in this town, though that isn’t the case anymore. There are graves of families once powerful, whose once proud manors now litter the forests around the coast. Graves of sailors and shop keepers circle around those impressive tombs, faded over the course of many, many years, battered by storm after storm that blows in from sea.

After pulling the hood off of her head, Ruby shakes out her short hair before looking down at the smooth, white marble that makes up her mother’s grave. She smiles, swaying on her heels before plopping down in the soft grass, fingers tangling themselves in the grass.

“Hi, mom. Long time no see!” An awkward chuckle, and then a pause. “Just kidding! I’m pretty sure I was here three days ago, too. Um… I don’t really have much to say.” Her toes wiggle beneath her shoes as she lets her vision fill with early morning fog and her ears fill with the distant sound of seagulls. “Oh, uh, Yang got a girlfriend! So that’s cool. And I got to visit Dad and Zwei last week!” As though to conceal great secrets, the girl looks around, leans forward, and cups her palms around her mouth as she whispers. “Zwei’s gotten really big. I saw this picture of you holding him in your hand once! And now he’s huge…” she leans back, hands in her lap. “Like me! Kinda. I’m pretty short compared to Yang, I guess.”

There’s another hesitant laugh that bubbles up from Ruby’s chest, smile falling as she sighs. Her eyes move away from the grave, head turning to look back at her bike. She hops onto her feet, grin wide as she places her hands on her hips. “Anyway! I should head back to town, I promised Yang that I’d go and hang out with her today!” She takes a breath, rocking on her heels while lacing her fingers together. “So I’ll talk with you later.”

Ruby turns, shoving her hands into her hoodie pockets while dewy grass crunches under her shoes. She fishes around in her pockets, pulling out her earbuds and placing it into her ears the moment she hits the gravel path. 

She’s not the only visitor to the graveyard today. Come to think about it, she never is. There’s always the black car that rests at the base of the hill that she can see from the top of the path. There’s always the silver haired man who comes here to read. They’ve had conversations once or twice, and Ruby thinks that he would make a good teacher. He has the same teacher voice as her dad, patient, understanding…

He says something to her, only to laugh when he realizes she has headphones in. Instead, the man in the green scarf waves at her. 

“Hiii, Mister Ozpin!” she chirps, a bit too loudly. He told her once that he had been a teacher. Even though he told Ruby that he didn’t work in academia anymore, she can’t help but offer the same respect her classmates gave her dad. Mister Xiao Long. Mister Ozpin.

Saying anything else just doesn’t sit right with her.

 

Ruby’s hands curl around the handles of her bike, tossing one leg over the seat and pushing off with the other.

The wind pushes back her hood as she bounces down the old street on her bike. She’s letting her feet rest on the pedals, just letting the hill get her up to speed so it can take her to the bottom. Once she gets there, it’s all wind and rush down the sidewalk as the town moves by to the beat of her pedaling.

Ruby always contemplates her mom more intensely the moment the graveyard’s been left behind. Maybe that’s because, even now, this doesn’t quite feel real. Like one day, she’ll wake up at home in her old bed with Zwei on top of her, and she’ll sit on their old, worn couch, and she’ll be right there watching her soaps. Dad will lean down and kiss her, and she’ll jokingly cover her eyes. Yang will lie across both of them on the couch and ask mom if the characters on-screen are together yet, and she’ll laugh, because it’s only the first season, and dad will feign disinterest before finally giving in and sitting with them, too. And everything will go back to normal.

But it doesn’t. So she continues on, not because any of this feels natural or familiar, but because one day it’s supposed to, right? And if she talks to her mom about it, maybe that day will come sooner rather than later. That’s all she really can do, all she knows how to do. Her family never really discussed coping skills, but if she’s learned anything from all this, it’s that there’s no one way to cope anyway, and that reactions to death are _really_ varied, just like people, and she’s kind of numb about Summer, and she feels bad and…

Her teeth tug anxiously at her lip, because there’s someone at the bottom of her next slope down, and she doesn’t want to hit them. As the bike picks up speed she swerves around a mass of red curls, barely missing the girl. “Waiiiiiit! Penny! Hi!”

Ruby pulls back on the brakes with her fingers, and the heels of her shoes dig into the ground to stop herself entirely as she looks back at Penny. The redhead always seemed so calm, wind tugging at her red curls, pulling at the edges of her clothes. Penny’s green eyes are wide, and she’s standing stock still, as if she hasn’t processed Ruby’s presence just yet.

“Oh! Hello, Ruby!” the girl chimes, eyes lighting up as she turns to face her friend. Ruby grins back in return, placing the bike down on the ground so she can scoop her friend up into a hug. Penny laughs, throwing her arms around the smaller girl and holding her tightly. “It has been far too long!”

“It’s only been a couple of days, Penny! But I missed you too!” Ruby hums, moving to gently hold Penny’s hands instead of holding the girl in a vice grip all together. Bouncing on her heels, she glances up at the estate and country club that overlooks the entire town. The Schnee family manor…

Ruby smiles softly, though it falls as she glances back down to look at Penny. The other girl’s green eyes have already wandered, smile falling as she looks out at the town below. Ruby’s brows furrow, and she squeezes Penny’s hands gently. “Hey… aren’t you supposed to be staying at Weiss’s house until your dad got back?”

“Yes,” comes a tiny, broken little sound in her throat that she fights through to speak clearly. Her grip falters in her friend’s hands before she pulls away entirely. “I am supposed to be there.”

“Penny, what’s wrong?” As she barely resists the urge to reach out and draw her into another hug, she wonders if there’s anything she can do in the first place. Penny’s never been like this, never been anything but the happiest person Ruby’s ever known. This territory proves foreign, almost alien as the girl in front of her with head hung and expression fragile hugs herself. “Hey… do you need somewhere else to be?” Ruby offers, slowly righting her bike. “I was gonna go see Yang and her friends! You… don’t really look like you wanna talk to anyone, though. So if you don’t, that’s okay!” Everyone works through their problems differently, right? Maybe Penny just needs some space! 

Penny takes a small breath, forcing her eyes back to Ruby’s before letting herself smile. The wind blows between them, tugging at the ribbon that sits atop of Penny’s head to keep most of her curls from blowing into her face.

“I am always okay with hanging out with you, Ruby.” she states, and she moves to gently pat the leather messenger bag that rests against her hip. “Besides, if I do not want to talk to anyone, I can listen to music and play a game!” Ruby grins, nodding as she takes Penny’s hands back into her own, pushing down the want to bounce up and down on her heels. 

“Well, if you’re okay with it, you can take a ride on the back of my bike! There’s a little space I usually attach the basket that Zwei rides in on, but you could sit on it if you just--” She’s cut off by Penny moving around her, emerald eyes scanning over the bike before placing her hand on the space Ruby was talking about. 

“Okay. If I sit sideways and hug your waist, I should be able to sit here comfortably.”

Ruby balances the bike, easily throwing her leg over the seat. It doesn’t take long for Penny to hop onto the back, throwing her arms around Ruby’s waist and pulling her legs up slightly so they don’t drag on the ground. With a small huff, Ruby pushes off. The bike wobbles at first, though Ruby manages to straighten it out.

It’s silent as the bicycle glides over worn roads and bits of gravel. The ride is bumpy, and it makes Penny cling to Ruby just a little bit tighter.

“Ruby?” she sighs to the cool wind that ruffles red hair. Penny’s not certain how far off Yang and her friends may be, but if they take an eternity to get there, she really wouldn’t mind.

“Yessss?” replies Ruby with bubbling energy. She can’t see her smile, but knows it’s there.

“... Am I annoying, Ruby?” asks the girl that grips her for dear life, watches clouds roll by with her thoughts far away and always, always brought her gifts when they were younger.  
Middle school proved rough for her; she barely managed friends on good days and found herself the subject of harsh snickering and cruel jokes on worse days. For some reason that still escapes her friend, every time that Ruby would meet her outside of the classroom, Penny would bring her a gift. Tiny sea shells, old rusted coins, bottle caps… tiny tokens of affection that Ruby found sweet, thoughtful. 

But when she thinks back on that now, on all the souvenirs that lovingly remain in the hardwood jewelry box beneath her bed, Ruby can only wonder whether she felt obligated to do so. Did Penny think she was humoring her? That she would leave if she stopped? That Ruby thought she was annoying…?

Ruby shakes her head before she pulls back on the breaks a little to easily glide around a corner and slide up onto the nearest sidewalk. Usually Ruby wouldn’t mind riding in the street with the other cars, but she has a passenger today, and that means she should be more careful than ever.

That... and if Uncle Qrow and her dad knew that sometimes she weaved through traffic on her bicycle when she was heading home from school, they’d die from stress.

“No way! You’re one of the sweetest people I know!” Ruby nods after getting her thoughts together as they pedal past the lines of cafes, tourist traps, and family run businesses. “You’re Penny! I mean.. who wouldn’t like you once they got to know you?” 

Ruby can feel Penny’s arms tighten around her waist, fingers curling slightly over the pocket of her hoodie. Penny’s arms slide down slightly when Ruby stands up to pedal a bit harder, but they don’t lose their grip. Together, they push over the steep hill that leads out of the shopping area. There’s sweat on her brow that awkwardly drips down her neck, and suddenly she regrets her choices in dress. By now the sun proves high and hot, that long sleeves were a mistake, and that if she had put her hood up she’d be absolutely drenched to boot.

“... I see. So I don’t bother you, Ruby?” Her heart breaks when Penny has to ask again, and something tells her that she’ll never quite be able to reassure the girl fully. She’s stubborn, though, so nothing will ever stop her from trying. All she wants is for her friend to feel like she belongs, and she _does!_

“Nope!” Her lips pop with the word. “Why would you even ask?”

“If it is all the same, I would prefer not to talk about this.”

“Ookkaaayy. You brought it up, though!” Still, she exhales an easy-going laugh and continues on her merry way, not pressing the girl. If she wants to talk, she will, and if she doesn’t, she won’t!

The Crowbar comes into blurred view merely a block away, and Ruby can’t help but wonder whether or not her uncle might be free enough for a quick hello before she wanders off to hang with her sister. She pulls her bike to a stop in front of the wooden shack, chains the metal rig up to a lamp post and pokes her head inside to gauge how busy things are. There’s two burly customers at the sturdy wooden bar, and two crouched in a booth together. Not _too_ bad at all, but she probably shouldn’t stay for very long.

Ruby lingers in the doorway for a moment, and she’s about to walk in before she notices Penny isn’t behind her. The redhead is lingering by her bike, picking at the skin around her painted nails. 

“Penny? Are you coming?” Ruby asks, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Penny jumps, her hair bouncing around her face, emerald eyes wide.

“Of course, Ruby.” she replies, taking measured steps to join her friend. She stays behind her, though it doesn’t do any good to hide her from anyone who’s looking. Penny’s always been a bit taller than Ruby, or perhaps Ruby’s always been slightly shorter than everyone around her.

 

Upon second glance, she can see her uncle leaning against the counter, grin on his face and eyebrows raised as he talks to a taller, more muscular man. Broad shoulders and a hairstyle that’s shaved close to the sides, but leaves enough hair at the top to be styled, Ruby breaks out into a smile. She pops up behind him, grin unwavering as she notices James Ironwood’s signature glare. 

“Hi, Uncle Qrow!” she calls, skipping around the counter to give him a quick hug.

“Hey there, tiny.” His palm comes down on her head, ruffling up dark locks, hair stuck this way and that.

“Heyyy!” protests Ruby, leaning far away from his hand.

“What brings you to this part of the neighborhood, Ruby? Thought you were hanging out with Yang today.” Forehead wrinkled with worry, he places his hand on her shoulder instead. “Everything alright?”

“Uh,” Ruby hesitates, frown overtaking her expression. “It’s fine! I think. I just wanted to pick up Penny and say hi on the way there!”  
James pauses midway through a heavy sip of rum to turn around and confirm what he thought he saw in his peripheral vision as they converse: a wide, pink hairbow. “Penny? I thought I asked you to stay with the Schnees for the week.”

“Yes, father,” she smiles warmly, moving closer to rest her forehead against his shoulder. “But I knew that you would be home today, so I decided to meet up with another friend in the meantime!”

A heavy sigh and a heavier hug. “Penny, you _can’t_ switch your location without telling me like that. What if I had come to pick you up and you weren’t there? Do you have any idea what that would do to me?” He’d tear this entire town apart looking for her, and she knows that.

 

“I know,” she whispers earnestly. “It was an emergency, father. I promise.”

“... We’re going to discuss this later,” he says firmly, but… he smiles, gently patting her shoulder. “For now, go on ahead with Ruby. As long as you text me, I don’t mind.”

“Helicopter alert,” mumbles Qrow to his kid, hand smoothly sailing before his palm crashes into the counter.

“I am _not_ being a ‘helicopter,’ Qrow. Don’t undermine my parenting.” If looks could kill, the raven haired man would’ve been dead the very first time he and James crossed paths. But he remains the living, lighthearted answer to Ironwood’s more rigid approach. Vice versa, too; sometimes balance can’t be achieved without differing perspectives. And sometimes, they’re on the exact same page.

“Nope,” he chuckles. “You’re not. I’m the same way, Jimmy. Just messing with you.” His eyes drift down toward Ruby, words soft. “Why don’t you run along with Penny, flower petal? Jimmy and I were having a pretty important discussion.”

Penny shuffles slightly, fingers brushing against James’s jacket before she lets her hand fall back down to her side. 

“Before we leave, sir, can I have the… uhm..” she tilts her head, thinking as her hands wave up and down. Ruby moves to pull her hoodie up and over her head, shaking out her already messy hair while pulling down her shirt. “.. the apple thing?”

“‘The apple thing.’” Qrow raises his eyebrows, still leaning against the countertop. He’s always liked Penny. Sure, she’s an awkward kid, but aren’t most kids awkward when they’re in that almost to high school phase? “You mean a virgin appletini, kiddo?”

Penny’s eyes light up, and she nods before clapping her hands together, the sound loud enough to make anyone nearby wince. “Yes, sir! I would like a virgin appletini with a little umbrella!”  
James makes a face, but he doesn’t stop her. If there’s anything that Penny got from being raised by Jimmy, is that she’s _stubborn_. It makes him grin, a chuckle rising up from his throat.

“Alright. One virgin appletini before you go, carrot top.” It doesn’t take him long to mix her drink, and then the girls are a comfortable distance away, sitting under the window and looking at all the people that wander by on the streets. Ruby’s legs swing back and forth, chattering, while Penny moves to place the little green drink umbrella into her hair. 

James sighs, fingers curling around the cup he left on the counter top. His eyes close for a moment, and Qrow can swear the guy is cussing out the Schnees seven days to Sunday before he opens his eyes again.

“You were saying, Qrow?” James finally says, smile returning to his face as he rolls his shoulders.

“That Tai’s finally doing alright. Called him today,” he sighs, returned smile weaker than he’d prefer. “He seemed okay. Not exactly happy, but more okay than I’d expect.”

“Right. Usually, Taiyang wouldn’t be too keen on picking up the phone around this time.” There’s a question on the man’s tongue, but his posture hesitates, drink suspended just in front of his face. “If he’s faring well, have you considered the children?”

“What about ‘em, Jimmy?” Long fingers curl into unseen fists at his sides, because this conversation’s going exactly where he’d prefer it didn’t.

“I’m simply suggesting that…” a finger held up in pause, a long sip taken to burn down his throat and smooth down the edges of his attitude, “You may want to consider how they feel. They’re an important part of the equation, and failure to consult with them will only bring anger.”

With a scowl, he uncurls one fist, then the other, then tightens them again like he can’t control what rolls through him. Harshly, he growls out, “They’ll be angry no matter _what_ I do.” Then he hears how that sounds, so he takes a deep, slow breath and tries to make himself softer. “Of course I’ll let them pick, Jimmy. I’m not some kind of monster. Besides, a custody battle’s the last thing on my mind, and I wouldn’t do that to Tai in a million years.” That man’s like a brother to Qrow, and if he wanted the kids again, he wouldn’t say no. And if the kids wanted to head over to their dad’s place, he definitely wouldn’t deny them that, either.

Problem is how much both will hurt. No matter what, this entire situation feels doomed to fail. He would never let Ruby and Yang know how hurt he’d be if they decided to go back home, but whatever he’s feeling, Taiyang’s got it double. In a perfect world, maybe they’d all live together instead of pretending they don’t all need each other. Maybe Taiyang could look his kids in the eyes without the color draining from his skin. Maybe Yang could forgive him for not being strong enough.

Maybe Qrow wouldn’t lose the only reason he happens to care about getting up on time in the mornings.

“Qrow,” his friend urges with a whisper, unusually gentle for a giant like him. “How are _you_ handling this?”

Of course, he laughs, because that’s all he can really do. “I’m not, Jimmy, but I’m trying. That’s all I can do, right?” The very act of living in the wake of all this stabs his chest and pricks his eyes. He’s not well, and he knows that. But Jimmy doesn’t need to know the extent of that.

“There’s something else you can do.” He sets his glass down heavily, posture perfectly rigid, expression skeptical. “Isn’t there?”

“Like what?”

“Like open up to me, since we’ve been friends for _years._ ” With frustration he grips the bridge of his nose, soothes himself with the thought that the man before him, as always and ever, is trying his best. “You can talk to me. I’m here for that.”

Qrow rolls his neck as those familiar words sink into the back of his head. He’s tempted to grab his flask, but that looks really, really bad when he’s the one serving the drinks. On one hand, he’s tempted not to say anything at all, tempted to poke at Jimmy until the high school track coach turns several different shades of angry red. On the other hand… what consequences could he possibly face from letting Jimmy in, of all people? Jimmy, who he’s known for nearly five years, who’s been through best and worst during those years… No, there’s nothing to be destabilized here, no friendship to be lost, no risks, he tells himself.

“Alright, screws-for-brains,” heaves the man who’d like to be as plastered as whoever’s at the other end of the bar, head down and poised to nap. “I’ll be completely honest: I feel like _shit,_ and I don’t really know what to do about it.”

“The first step is admitting it.” A laugh, then a tilt of his glass as though to say ‘continue.’

“... I jumped into the ocean last night. Went for a jog, but it didn’t help, so I thought I’d…” A pause. How to put this? “Y’know, find my own remedy.”

“‘Remedy?’” His mouth’s in a twist, incredulity rising up his throat. “Do you have any idea how awful last night’s storm was? You’re lucky your skull hasn’t cracked open against a rock.”

Qrow recoils slightly, _really_ not a fan of that mental image that keeps getting tossed around. “I know,” he affirms, determined to move on from that part. “I wasn’t exactly in any shape to think things through, alright?”

Reluctantly, Jimmy nods, and Qrow’s relieved.

“Then, this asshole pulls me out of the ocean. Think his name was… Oz-something? I mean, what kind of name _is_ that?” A snort as his shoulders rise and fall, a faint exhale as he recalls just how damn surreal that man was, hands miming as he speaks. “What I can’t figure out... I mean, there’s a lotta things I can’t really figure out about last night, Jimmy, but the worst part’s how he was _dressed._ Who the hell wears winter clothes in this godforsaken part of the globe? Every car’s a convection oven as-is, but there he was, ready for the blizzard of the century.” At this point, he’s rambling, and he’s so into his rambles that James’s reaction registers a few beats too late.

James grips the glass cup he’s holding a bit too hard, hard enough that Qrow’s worried he’s about to crush the thing before he removes his hand entirely. Heavy hands come to rest on the counter instead, and James leans forward slightly. One palm presses into the counter, fingers splayed, but the other doesn’t move. Instead, wide prosthetic fingers rest against the polished wood.

The energy’s enough to make Qrow lean back, because if looks could kill, James’s steely gaze would be the bullet to his temple. The look evaporates in a moment, replaced with his usual ambivalent attitude, and the coach rolls his shoulders, moving to pull the ankle of his right leg on top of the knee of his left. 

“You alright there, Jimjam?” His eyes narrow, contemplative. What’s his deal?

“That… is arguably the worst thing you have ever called me, Qrow.” James sighs before rolling his shoulders. Qrow can see a flicker of red look over at them, Penny getting up to card through the books that he keeps on the shelves for wallflower patrons. “But I’m fine. It’s…”

Silence.

James rolls his shoulders, hand moving to massage the right one. Qrow knows that’s the bad shoulder. He also knows that James tends to work at the knots there when he’s nervous. “... How do you and Ozpin know each other?” 

“Right, Ozpin.” Qrow chuckles, head shaking doubtfully. “What a name, huh? Anyway, we don’t know each other at all, Jimmy. Sounds like you know him, though.”

From the corner of his eye comes the tiny redhead, ready to return her empty glass, tiny umbrella still tucked behind her ear. “Are you two discussing Mister Ozpin?” she asks, voice filled with something fond and light hearted, respectful but close. Something like love, like the way his girls talk about Taiyang. (Maybe not quite like that, since Taiyang’s a little less formal, a little looser with Ruby and Yang, and so is Qrow. But he digresses.)

At this point, Qrow’s baffled, maybe even exasperated. What, did everyone know this guy? And if that’s the case, why doesn’t _he?_ This is a small town and a smaller world, and not once has an ‘Ozpin’ ever came up, not in conversations or photo albums, not in public nor private spheres. As far as he’s concerned, Ozpin may as well have been a dream, something unreal. He wouldn’t be so upset--after all, what the hell does it matter? Jimmy can have other friends, friends that he doesn’t tell him about. Hell, that’s healthy; frankly, he’d be unsettled to know every last step that James Ironwood has ever taken.

His problem rests with clean, clear skin that leaves no trace, no scars to disrupt the creases in his palm. Idly his index finger traces the site that surely would’ve made work a living hell for weeks on end and finds that the area in question’s soft, supple. Like he’s years younger than he should be in that one, tiny spot.

Finally, his gaze trails up to meet James, filled with questions--maybe even a few accusations. “And how do you know Ozpin, Jimmy?”

“He’s an acquaintance of mine, that’s all,” his old friend says, placing his hand on Penny’s shoulder. Qrow watches as James squeezes there, and Penny tilts her head before her eyes light up in recognition. Pale, freckled fingers hover over her mouth, which forms into a small, tiny ‘o.’ The girl nods, but she hiccups a few seconds afterwards. 

“‘An acquaintence.’” Qrow raises his eyebrows, and his eyes narrow into slits. James breaks eye contact with him the second his phone rings. He pulls it from his hip, eyes wide for a moment as he slides off the barstool.

Qrow feels like the guy is running from him, but that could just be the paranoia whispering in his ear. Penny’s eyes follow her father, and her hair bounces around her head when she hiccups again.

“... I’m sorry, but can we talk about this later, Qrow? I need to take this,” the man says, pressing the call button with his thumb before making his way towards the door. 

 

A faint hiccup fills the silence left by James’s lucky leg hitting the floor when he walks.

 

“What’s the deal with him, carrot top?” grumbles the man that runs distressed fingers through his scalp, ten seconds away from losing his shit over whatever James may be hiding.

“I… can’t tell you that,” hiccups the girl with the pink bow, palms flying up to cover her mouth with embarrassed, apologetic brows. “But I think I know someone who can help.” She takes a cautious step forward, then a few more, hand outstretched to Qrow as she nervously glances toward the door. “May I see your phone, Mister Qrow?”

“My phone?” Red eyes widen, then close as he steadies himself against the counter, hand gripped tightly around smooth wood as his other digs into his pocket and pulls the requested phone. “Sure thing, kid. What’s this about?”

As the heavy square rests firmly in Penny’s grip, her expression grows tense. “I don’t know,” she replies firmly, delayed. Swift fingers find his contacts list, then type away, each tap of her fingers resulting in keyboard feedback that exacerbates her anxiety. “Mister Qrow?” she whispers, eyes flickering to the front windows just as Ironwood returns his phone to his pocket.

“Yeah, kid?” With brows tucked together he takes his phone back without a single glance, places the brick right back in his pocket, eyes trained on the door just like hers.

“Don’t tell dad, okay? Promise? I… I’m sorry, but I’m not very good at lying.” She sounds ashamed, hurt, like something’s eating away at her chest, and Qrow reaches out to comfort the girl straight away, but she’s already turned to grab Ruby and leave, run, hide, anything but this.

This might just be the first time that Penny’s ever lied to her dad, and while he can’t exactly reciprocate the feeling, he knows it when he sees it. What’s worse is that a kid like that told a lie for _him._

Hesitantly, he pulls his phone from his pocket, eyes flickering down as James reclaims his seat at the counter. As the screen lights up, right beneath Oobleck’s rests a new name in his contacts list:

Ozpin.

And then everything Jimmy has to say becomes moot. Qrow says, “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. That alright with you?”

He’s confused, sure, and maybe even a little pissed off, but mostly James Ironwood looks utterly relieved. Like he’s been let off the hook for murder, even. “Sure, Qrow. If that’s what you want.”

He’s not off the hook. Not by a longshot. But for now, he knows one thing: If Penny was desperate enough to lie, then James won’t be willing to tell him the truth either. He turns the conversation to Penny’s performance in school, to her social life, to how thankful they both are that the poor girl’s finally managed some friends, and then an hour or so blows by in an instant. Just like that, Ironwood pulls Qrow into a hug. “Take care,” he murmurs, and for a moment Qrow hears signs of worry, of concern, of emotions he wishes this man didn’t have for him.

“I’m fine,” asserts Qrow, then lets up as he returns the gesture, arms tucked around his best friend for dear life. “You take care too, alright? Watch your liver.”

“I don’t need to tell you how hypocritical that is, Qrow,” he laughs softly, then pulls away.

Qrow laughs, too. And he’s sure the man means well.

But Qrow needs whatever he’s hiding.

It doesn’t take Qrow long to make his rounds, making sure all of the ovens are off and the bottles of alcohol are put away. The last thing he does is turn off all the lights, starting from the kitchen and making his way out towards the front door.

Qrow covers his eyes when he stands outside on the sidewalk, shading his eyes with his hand while looking down at his phone.

Ozpin. 

Qrow takes a breath, shoving his phone into his back pocket before walking down the street, pulling out his flask and taking the first of many, many sips this evening. He doesn’t pull out the phone until he’s on the pier, staring down at the now calm waters that he flung himself into less than twenty-four hours ago. He props himself up against the railing with his hand, and he swears he can feel the spot that was cut open tingle for just a second there before he pulls out his phone.

God. Who the hell names their kid _Ozpin,_ of all things?

His thumb hits the call button before he places the phone to his ear, letting the sound of the ringback tone drown out the sound of the seagulls, the children running along the wooden pier, and the waves lapping at the beach and rocks below. Breath caught, he waits, heart beating double time, right out of his chest.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s not what he gets. “Hello,” flatly states the feminine voice on the other end. “This is Glynda Goodwitch.”

“Bullshit,” hisses Qrow, receiver surely picking up his curse.

“Excuse me?” She’s upset, tone raised an octave, and Qrow’s lucky she’s yet to hang up.

“Where’s Ozpin?” he retorts in frustration, question more like a statement, mind more like an endlessly spiraling void. His eyes close, and the world’s all ocean waves and soft static. “Is he there?”

“Who _is_ this?” challenges the woman on the line.

“Think he’s a little too old for you to be screening his calls, grandma.” He starts to laugh, but the sound rapidly devolves into more of an upset groan. “Look, I’m not asking much. I just wanna talk to the guy, alright? Nothing more… nothing less.”

There’s a long pause. 

“... Hello, Mister Branwen.” 

“You don’t sound too happy to hear from me, Oz. Thought we were friends.”

“Is anyone ever happy to be woken up from a nap?” There’s a chuckle that drifts over the line. Light. Airy. “But I am happy to hear from you, Mister Branwen. As…” A pause. “.. unorthodox as this may be.” 

“Well, it’s not like you gave me any ‘orthodox’ methods of contact.” There’s a laugh, short-lived and harsh. “ _I wonder why._ ” 

 

“I thought we were strangers, merely crossing paths for a moment or two. If you wanted to stay in touch, I would have left my contact information in a note.” 

“Sorry, but I don’t buy that for a minute. Even if I had wanted to stay in touch, you probably would’ve shot me down.”

“Would I? I thought we had a discussion about making assumptions the other night.” Ozpin chuckles again, amused, the sound directly in Qrow’s ear. He cringes, and he feels he’s got every right to.

“And I thought that the least you could do is explain what…” his hand flinches slightly. “What this is all about, Oz. What you _did_ to me.”

“... Pardon?” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Oz. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Bright, fading sun tints red behind eyelids that squeeze even tighter as he hears precisely what he expected: denial.

“... If I had known you were this against first aid, I would have let you pull the splinters out yourself.” The amusement doesn’t fade. “But no, Qrow. I’m not sure what you are talking about. You could be referring to the breakfast, the cleaning, the tea. Regardless…” Ozpin hums. Qrow can see the man fiddling with his scarf in his mind’s eye, and it makes his jaw set. “I assure you, whatever you are panicked about, I did not harm you in any way. As I said, I was merely there to assist.”

“You’re really going to play dumb about this.” Numbly, his eyes flutter open, take in too-harsh sun and soft shades of pinks and blues and purples. “You’re gonna pretend that I’m crazy. That it didn’t happen. That you didn’t...do anything.”

There’s a sigh. “No, Qrow. You’re perfectly sane.” 

“Then tell me you did it.”

“Is that really the answer you want to hear? That someone simply walks around, healing those in need at random? I imagine the Christians wouldn’t be too happy about that.” Another pause. Ozpin laughs. “Or perhaps they would be thrilled. Who’s to say?” 

“Look,” he growls, teeth gnashed. “You still haven’t answered me. At this point, _any_ answer would be better than none.” He can’t deny that Ozpin has a point, though. What _is_ he after? Affirmation of events already passed? What the hell’s the use of that, anyway? _What’s the point?_

“... Yes, Qrow. However,” Another, lingering silence. He can imagine Ozpin hovering over a chessboard, a game of Risk, all of these games that are designed to drive players like Qrow to fumble and mess up and make them look like _idiots_. He can see him pushing around the pieces, and all Qrow can do is dodge. “I am asking you to let it go. For your sake.”

“And what if I can’t do that?” How could he expect him to? How is he supposed to walk away without any explanation? “What, you think this won’t keep me up at night? That I’m not gonna think about this for the rest of my life? This is _creepy_ Oz, and that’s a goddamned understatement.”

“... Hm.” Is the only response Qrow gets for a moment. “You’ll find it easier to forget if you stop thinking about it, Qrow. I promise.” 

“And I promise that _I don’t forget._ So before you repeat yourself and go around in some other ridiculous circle, I think what I want is…” Takes him awhile to search his own brain, pick it for what he’s actually thinking. Emotions are pretty annoying, and all he feels is a sense of dread, nausea, and irritation. “ _Answers._ ” He waves his hand to the empty air. Vague, but true.

Another, exasperated sigh. “If you insist, Mister Branwen. But I imagine you won’t enjoy what you find. Good luck.”

Click.

The dial tone rings in his ear, loud, deafening.

Qrow wants to throw his phone into the ocean. He wants a drink. He wants to punch something, and he’s not young enough to even think about doing that anymore without the possibility of consequence.

Apparently though, _some_ assholes are running around the world with free reign and no worry of _any_ physical consequence. That’s not exactly new information, since Qrow’s dealt with Schnees and schmucks the entirety of his existence. No, what’s _new_ proves more ridiculous than any stunt Jacques has ever pulled to leech business away from the bar, any of Weiss’s harsher words that Qrow’s had lengthy, heated discussions with her about. What’s new is that there are people out there, people like Ozpin, who reside in some asinine liminal space between reality and fantasy.

Somewhere, somehow, there has developed some group -- or perhaps many groups, for all he knows -- that holds enough power to hide in plain sight. Maybe they’re inhuman--maybe Ozpin’s something else entirely.

Or maybe he lied. Maybe he _is_ crazy, and the best course of action is none at all. If that were the case, though, Penny wouldn’t have gone this far. The more he thinks things through, the more his palms sweat and his legs beg for sleep. Limply, he sits on the pier’s edge, watches rough ocean waves lap and splash just beneath his shoes.

He takes a long swig from his flask as the sun sinks below the waters behind him. “Fuck,” he mumbles, knowing damn well he can’t stay here forever. Dinner’s not in the oven, there are two mouths to feed… and the world keeps turning.

Like nothing changed. Like Ozpin wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter took awhile. The once a week update ideal seems to be working out so far, so I think we'll stick to that. Our attention span for proof reading has proved... minimal this time, so hopefully nothing's too off! (But you're free to tell us if something is!)
> 
> Also, we're... probably going to change the tags because nuts and dolts seems a little more likely...  
> (let the cute babies hold hands)
> 
> As always, feel free to comment!


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny's upset. Ruby wants to know why.
> 
> (Qrow doesn't appear in this chapter until the very end, and Ozpin isn't in it at all either. There are reasons why that will reveal themselves in the next chapter. That said, this chapter is necessary for the plot, and we hope you enjoy it.)

Soft blue walls surround the daintiest of bed canopies, all lace and luxury. When Penny first stayed with the Schnees her fingers unconsciously played with the silver tassels where long fabric drapes over the bed’s edge. Her eyes lit up, filled with sheer awe, because never had she seen a bed like this, one with fabric like the clouds above. Weiss bragged that of course the girl had never seen anything so perfect, wood custom cut, colors tailored specifically to all the walls and carpets in her manor.

Now, though, Weiss finds herself questioning. Her friend rests just across from crossed ankles and blue snowflake socks, and their collective nail polish pile fills the gap to the redhead that’s decided to paint her fingernails bright green. This should feel comforting; this ritual, their girls’ only nights with no Whitley Schnees allowed, should feel perfectly upbeat. But instead, there’s a question that lingers in Weiss’s chest.

She clears her throat. “Penny,” she announces, back straight, confidence all bravado. “I have an inquiry for you about our friendship.”

“An inquiry?” Penny responds after a few seconds of delay, eyebrows dipping together as she uses her pinky finger to smear away the dots of green that got onto her skin from the brush.

“Do you believe that friends have a sworn duty to interact with mutual acquaintances?” She says this as though her personal answer already rests within. Penny hums, tilting her head slightly to the right as she examines the nails on her right hand. She’s always been good at painting her non dominant hand, but the second she tries to paint her dominant one, it all goes downhill.

“Well… I don’t think so! You shouldn’t have to interact with someone you don’t like, Weiss. I think that would be draining for both parties.” the ginger nods, red curls bouncing as she shakily takes the green nail polish to the nails on her left hand. “Why do you ask? Do you have someone that you don’t like being around, Weiss?”

 

As she slathers on her second layer of neat, careful blue, the heiress can’t help her expression, mouth crumpled in distaste as her shoulders slump. “No… that’s not it at all! The opposite, actually.” She stands, stretches, and takes care not to bump her nails into anything as she snatches the UV dryer from the depths of her bedside vanity. 

 

Briefly, she locks eyes with her reflection, but there’s nothing there she wouldn’t already know--her brows lock together and her lips have fallen, quivering. “Winter and I have some guests scheduled to arrive within the hour. We simply couldn’t bear to cancel, and…” she takes a deep breath to quell her rapidly increasing heart rate. “And I was hoping you would be comfortable with new company, even on such short notice.”

 

“Oh, guests? I don’t mind at all! A friend of Weiss’s is a friend of mine.” The girl hums, shifting her weight on the bed while crisscrossing her legs. Her left hand looks like a mess, half finished and sloppy. Besides, if she gets overwhelmed, she can just head back upstairs. “Do you enjoy their company, Weiss?”

 

“Of course I do!” she gushes as heavy, bright heat sinks into her nails. “They are lovely, sophisticated individuals, Penny. Why wouldn’t I?” Mostly, she admits to herself, they’re Winter’s friends, a little older and a little taller, and significantly removed from her high school world. “The problem is that I _need_ them to enjoy my company as well.”

 

Penny nods as Weiss gushes, moving to adjust the nail dryer that Weiss currently has her hand under. Emerald green nails, already smudged from the movement, rest over the top. 

“Why wouldn’t they like you, Weiss? You’re amazing! You’re kind, and funny, and you always are there for Ruby and I. I can’t imagine having a better friend!” The kind that you can talk to about boys -- not that Penny’s ever been fond of looking for a relationship -- have sleepovers, and go shopping with…

 

“When you put it that way…” she withdraws her hand, gracefully wiggling her shiny new fingertips. “I suppose that there is little to worry about!” With the flash of a warm, genuine smile, Weiss steps aside to allow the other girl dryer access. 

The taller girl pauses for a moment, lips pressing together as she slides her hands under the dryer and hesitantly turns it on with Weiss’s help. The sensation makes her bristle, but she doesn’t pull away. Not anymore.

“‘Little to worry about?’ What do you mean, Weiss? Is there going to be trouble at this gathering?” 

“Of course not. Not if we remain calm, cool, and collected.” She squares her shoulders and sashays toward her door, mere feet from a long, spiral staircase made with marble and pearl. “Come on. This way! They should be here any minute.”

Penny jumps, looking down at the nail dryer and then back up at Weiss before trotting after her. The rumble of the dryer leaves them for now, and Penny laces her fingers behind her back.  
“This should be so much fun, Weiss! I’m incredibly excited to meet your friends!” the girl chirps, her gaze wandering to take in the beauty of the staircase. When she was little, she would rub her hands over the opal while her dad and Weiss’s dad talked, as if it would grant her wishes. Though Penny doesn’t believe in that anymore, her hand darts out for a moment, gripping the handrail as they walk down, rubbing over each inlaid stone. 

As they near the bottom of the stairs, Weiss finds Winter perched on a fluffy white couch by the large, ovular window that lets light pour into their living room. Stiffly, she turns away her snow white head, back toward the book in her lap and the mug in her hands. She does pause to check her watch, nose wrinkling. Her guests seem to be late. “Winter?” calls her sister, gaze zeroed in on whatever she’s drinking. “You know we aren’t meant to drink on the sofa. Father says we’ll ruin the furniture!”

 

“Father isn’t here, is he?” the girl replies coolly, taking a long, purposeful sip of black tea.

 

“Well… no, but…” she stalls, grimacing. “I simply believe that it would be better to follow the rule regardless. What if you stain the couch? We’ll all get in trouble!”

 

“Given that I will do no such thing, I would suggest you stop your whining and have a seat.” Another brief glance to the silver watch on her wrist. “They’re late, but they’ll be here soon.”

 

“Salutations, Winter! I haven’t seen you in a while!” Penny finally responds, leaning out from behind Weiss and smiling. “How is university life?”

 

“Penny.” She grins to herself, abruptly amiable as she places down a bookmark and closes the cover with a faint, heavy thud. “It’s going very well, actually. I have enjoyed my time away more than you could possibly imagine.” Her eyes roll, then pause on a grand diamond chandelier far above her reach. “What about you, Penny? Have you been well?” A pause, then a stern glance. “Has my sister been treating you well?”

 

“Hey!” Protests Weiss, arms crossed. “I’ll have you know that I am an _excellent_ friend!”

 

“And host!” Penny adds, shifting her hands from behind her to in front of her. She steps out from behind Weiss more, heels pressed together as she speaks. “She has been very kind to me since you’ve been away, though she was very amicable before too!” The girl tilts her head, thinking for a moment before her lips part again. “I’m good! Father will be returning to town today, so I am very excited about that.” 

 

“I should hope so. Your father is an excellent dad. Or, at least, he is from what you’ve told me.” She hums, satisfied with the girl’s response. "So, Weiss _hasn’t_ been a terror." 

 

Meanwhile, Penny’s green eyes light up at the mention of her father and she rocks up on her heels, read to speak-- before the topic changes to her friend. Her heels settle back against the marble floor.

 

“Of course not! I can’t imagine Weiss ever being a ‘terror.’ That’s more in line with those horror movies you showed us, isn’t it?” Penny pauses, and she gasps slightly before she turns to face Weiss. “Weiss… you aren’t a sea monster, are you?”

“A… what?”

Ding dong.

Winter clasps her hands together. “Finally. Weiss, can you get the door?”

“I certainly can!” She skips to the door and flings the entry wide open, revealing at least _ten_ guests around Winter’s age, all tall and posh, wearing tuxes and gowns. The clack of heels and loafers against hard tile coupled with the sudden echo of voices throughout the spacious home leaves Penny slightly more overwhelmed than she expected. She had presumed that “guests” would indicate one, two, perhaps three, but this amount proves significant and _loud._ She finds herself sticking close to Weiss or Winter, usually bouncing between the sisters when one proves too absorbed in whatever they’re doing to include her in the conversation.

 

After a while, however, Penny finds herself alone. She’s sitting on the same, perfect couch that Winter was setting on an hour or so ago, taking deep, measured breaths as she tries to find the energy to stand up and join in on the fun.  
(Not that this isn’t fun, Penny tells herself. Sometimes, however, all the sounds and people are a bit much, and it’s okay that they’re a bit much. She simply needs to find herself again before she can continue, and that’s okay.)

Alone and a bit drained, she doesn’t first hear the “hello” as being directed at her. Perhaps she thinks the greeting was directed at someone else, or perhaps she finds herself focusing on the solitary chandelier above, or perhaps she’s lost in her breathing. 

Maybe she’s doing all three when someone roughly taps at her scalp. 

She flinches, reflexively reaching for her bow, holding the fabric firm to her hair. “Yes?” the redhead squeaks, tone rising.

“I said ‘hello.’” Green eyes fall on a head of fluffy white clouds, a gaze like ice and snow. The boy before her couldn’t possibly be much taller, but even so her shoulders shrink down. He laughs, head slowly shaking. “Oh, there’s no need for that. Any friend of my sisters’ will always be a friend of mine. Though we hardly speak, I’m certain we could get along. Aren’t you, Penny?” 

 

Shaky hands steady her bright pink bow before they silently fall to her lap. Weiss has told her endless tales about her brother, and none of them have been pleasant. That doesn’t stop her from wanting to see the best in him, but that does promote tension in her neck and down her spine.

“Of course, Whitley..!” she starts, forcing the confidence back into her voice as she straightens her shoulders. Thinking back on it, Penny can’t remember the last time she saw Whitley. Whenever she’s at the Schnee household, she’s usually with Weiss or her father, and the times that she’s been with the younger Schnee have been in passing. “Is there something you need? You seem really fond of my hair!”  
“I am. For someone dressed so carelessly, your hair appears _meticulously_ groomed. If not for, well…” His index finger crawls slowly _upwards._ “ _That_ thing on your head. Removes all the charm, unfortunately.”

“Thing?” Penny leans back, eyebrows furrowing as she glances up at his finger. She stares for a moment, hands rising from her lap on reflex, until she realizes what he means. “Oh. My bow? My dad says that it looks very cute on me, so.. I think it would add to the charm, right?”

“Your father really said that?” His expression turns remorseful, almost somber. “How awful of him to lie to you. I certainly hope he doesn’t lie about anything else--you deserve better than that. Here, why don’t I take that thing off your hands?”

“... Why do you want it?” She finds herself leaning back further, but the further she leans, the closer Whitley gets.

“I don’t. It’ll go in the trash where other useless things belong, of course.”

“But it’s not trash! It’s… it’s very important to me!”

“And if you are going to continue to keep our company,” he responds darkly, icy gaze narrowing, “you should realize that what is important to you will have to change. That is the natural order of things, after all. If something is broken, you _fix_ it.”

Penny’s eyes glance towards the other guests at the party, heart in her throat as she looks for a familiar face, someone she can call out to, _anyone_.

But no one comes. It’s her, him, and the couch that’s suddenly starting to feel far, far too small. 

“Nothing’s broken, Whitley.” she responds, eyes flicking back to him. She rolls her shoulders, trying to make herself bigger like her father taught her. “I appreciate you attempting to… aid me, but I’m fine.” 

“I disagree. And I think we both know what the first step in my aid must be, Penny. This,” his tone fills with distaste as he rips soft pink fabric from softer red locks, “is an abomination, and I believe you have _outgrown_ it, don’t you agree? Besides--I’ve always thought it looked ugly on you, and I wouldn’t doubt that dearest Weiss agrees. She’s simply too polite to admit the truth to your face.”

Her body tenses and her hands curl around his wrists, emerald eyes narrowed as she pulls him closer. Privacy invaded and stomach churning, all she knows is that she feels sick, like she could puke, like the fundamental laws of personhood have crumbled beneath her feet and left her falling. Whitley’s eyes widen as Penny suddenly tips backwards, foot colliding with his chest as she continues rolling back. A loud shout is ripped from Whitley’s throw as he nearly crashes into the coffee table, landing roughly on his side on the polished floor.

The ribbon arcs between them, pink fluttering in the air as she snatches it back with emerald nails. Her heart is in her ears and all she can see, all she can _feel_ is Whitley, who’s scrambling back away from her as she stands. Her shoulders are back, breathing calm as she stands over him. Penny shoves the ribbon at him, fabric still tightly clenched in her hand, pastel silk wrapped around the spaces of her fingers. 

“ _This_ is mine. I did _not_ give you permission to touch it!”

Blurred murmurs fill the echoing space, all wordless chatter and cold, empty stares. As the entire room stops she finds her teeth clenched and skin frigid, all goosebumps and anger and gut-sinking fear. Her hands feel clammy, broken out in a cool sweat, and the only thing that stops the world’s spinning is a familiar voice.

 _”Penny, what on earth have you done?! Penny!”_ There are smooth hands on her shoulders, shaking her, and slowly her eyes widen to the reality of what’s occurred. Another pair of cold blue eyes reaches hers with disappointment, with questions, with _rage_ burning unspoken. “Why would you do that? You’re-- You’ve made a scene!” she stammers, feeling nothing but eyes and whispers on her back.

“That girl,” Whitley spits as he slowly rises, clutching his side as though he’s been shot, glare sharp and livid, “is a _monster,_ Weiss. _Kick her out._ Immediately.”

That’s when Winter calls across the room, “We will do _no such thing, Whitley._ ” High heels clack and clatter across pearly tile, and the sound should yield comfort, but each step simply escalates Penny’s heart rate. The room is too small.

“Weiss, I..! I didn’t mean to--” She cuts herself off, eyes wide as she tries to collect her thoughts. But she did mean to. She meant to hurt him, she could have pushed him off, but she made a scene.

It felt _good_ , and Penny thinks that’s what scares her the most.

“Stop,” Weiss whispers.

“But--”

“Just _go,_ alright? We… We can talk about this later.”

“But we need to talk about this now, don’t we?” 

 

“Penny,” Weiss snaps, heart twisting in her guts, “This _isn’t_ the time! Everyone is looking at us, and…” her head falls. “And I _needed_ them to like us.”  
“But they all saw what he did, Weiss! That should make them like you more!” she whispers the last part, but it feels loud to her. It rings in her ears and echoes in her head, over and over. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t _understand--_

 

“Penny, this is _really_ annoying, okay? I don’t know what happened, but I don’t want you here right now! Just stop it!” Her words are sharp, final.

Penny’s head spins for a moment, just for a moment as she takes a step back. Her eyes quickly flicker across the room, but no one meets them.

She finds herself outside before she knows it, it’s some odd hour of the morning, she’s sure of it, but she can’t bring herself to care. The dew clings to her shoes and socks as she walks, ribbon still crumpled in her hands as she makes her way to the beach at the bottom of the cliff.

For awhile, she watches waves softly ebb and flow, toes in cool waters and shoes elsewhere. Then she cries, then she walks. Down the sidewalk, past old buildings and older streets, eyes red and puffy…

“Waiiiiiit! Penny! Hi!”

___

 

There’s only one thing that kind of sucks about her friends’ skate antics: they’re _loud._ Watching Yang wipe out is a blast, watching Neptune and Sun wipe out proves predictably hilarious, and watching Ruby kick their butts at every ridiculous rail challenge is pretty funny, too. But they’re the noisiest group of people she has _ever_ hung out with, and reading Ninjas of Love under these conditions rings fruitless. She sighs, fiddles with her oversized black bow atop her thick, dark hair, and quietly steals a glance at the girl who’s decided to nestle beside her against her cold, dark alder tree. Grass slightly damp beneath her wrapped sandals, she can’t imagine the appeal to being beside her. “So,” she breaks the silence gently, “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be skating with Ruby?”

It takes a while for the girl to respond. Penny’s busied herself in using her thumbnail to pick at the emerald polish on her skin, lips pressed together thinly as she scrapes the color off bit by bit. 

“I would, but I don’t know how to skate.” she replies, letting her toes curl in the cool, shade covered grass. After they got here, she ended up kicking her shoes off somewhere in the grass. She can always find them later. “And I am removing the paint from my nails. What are you doing, Blake?” 

“Well, I was trying to read, but…” Her nose wrinkles. “The longer I look at you, the more I’m convinced that something’s really wrong. This just isn’t like you, okay? I’m worried.” Not that she’s particularly close to the redhead, but every time she shows up it’s all smiles and high energy. Not gloomy and crestfallen, not removed from the group’s collective shenanigans… not like herself. Like Blake.

“... … I have been better.” Penny’s shoulders rise and fall. She can feel the wind brushing against her clothes, tickling the skin at the nape of her neck and running through her hair. The bow is absent, for once, instead she decided to tuck it deep inside of her pocket to keep it safe. “But I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

“That’s okay. Just… let me know if you change your mind.” Her lips briefly fall, catlike gaze flickering toward the distant stair rails that a certain shirtless blonde buffoon appears poised beside, ready to hop on and board down. Arms lopsided as he stretches out and rolls his shoulders, relaxed blue eyes meet hers and wink. 

She lifts a stiff palm in greeting, smile slight, and he returns the gesture with a wave and the widest, geekiest grin in town. That’s right before board meets metal and Sun Wukong meets hard concrete; Neptune cracks up, runs a perfectly tanned hand through popsicle blue hair as he jogs closer to kneel down and offer his buddy some help up. Yang can’t handle herself either, doubled over and pointing as she ambles to join the rescue effort. Penny’s hands move to cover her mouth, eyes wide as she watches all of this go down, though her attention is quickly stolen by Ruby, who’s rapidly approaching on her scooter.

“Hiii, Penny! Hiiii, Blake!” she yells, raising one hand up as she presses her heel against the brake for a second or two. “How’re you two doiiiiiing!?”

“Uh, fine.” Blake looks to Penny just to check in, and finds her still busily picking away at her nails. “Mostly. What about you? Shouldn’t you be over there with the others?”

“Wellll.. You know how it is. Fours kind of a… even bigger crowd than three?” Slamming her foot on the ground, she pulls herself to a stop. Silver eyes follow yellow ones, and she frowns slightly as she lingers on Penny. With a small jerk of her head, she looks back at Blake, eyebrows knitted together.

Blake just shrugs, lips pressed thin.

Ruby peers over her shoulder the moment she hears heavy footsteps approach and finds Yang and Neptune supporting the shirtless wonder on either side. “Hey, I think we should take a break,” suggests Yang, who quickly breaks down into yet another cackling fit. “This guy ate _major_ dirt! Right, Neptune?”

“Yeah, man. This guy was totally _sick._ In like, a bad-good way.” He cracks a bright smile and then cracks right up again, composure lost to Sun’s slightly miffed grumbles.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Neptune.” He huffs, shoving him and the blonde off with good nature. “And I for one believe that I was totally sick in a good-good way! So… Yeah!”

“Yeahhhhh,” drawls Ruby, agreeable smile meeting her lips. “A _good-good_ way!”

“Well,” interjects Blake, sighing as she shoves her book away into the heavy satchel at her hip, “Why don’t we head down to the mall or something? I’m sweating to death out here.”

“That’s because you’re so hooooooot,” Yang teases as she moves in to offer the girl a hand up, earning her smile and the roll of her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” Still, the cat-eyed girl laughs, not letting go of her hand.

“And you’re completely worth it.” The blonde presses their foreheads together... and everyone’s quiet for an awkward moment until Neptune starts to cough heavily. “I get it,” she snaps.

“... … I thought it was heartwarming, Yang.” Penny states. At some point, she wandered off to collect her shoes from clearing nearby. 

“Yeah! In that.. Mushy rom com kind of way!” Ruby adds, smile wide.

Sun offers an awkward laugh as anxious fingers scratch at his neck’s nape. “Yeah, that’s right! Totally rom-com material. So... can we like, go now?”

“Of _course_ we can go now! Last one there is a rotten egg!” Ruby exclaims, and she’s already off, scootering down the side of the skatepark like her life depends on it. 

___

Low purple lights reflect across grey eyes and give Ruby’s skin peculiar highlights, like some extraterrestrial horror. Side by side, she and her freckled friend punch away at the cooperative horrors of Tentacle Tower. Two beach blonde surfers climb a tall tower and hack away at fish with legs using only their boards for defense, and normally she and Penny are the _queens_ of bipedal fish annihilation. 

Today proves no different, and as Ruby’s bodysuit-clad warrior impales the _Mer_ cenary with the final swift stab of her starfish-themed board, the girl gasps sharply, chest filled with anticipatory dread. “Penny! Penny, oh my god _Penny we are so close!”_ As the last enemy before the true danger shrieks and falls, her entire form melts, sharp scales, webbed toes and all turning to sea foam as the narrator calls out in a deep monotone, ‘Annihilation.’

“We are indeed close,” she replies, tone neutral. As they approach the final door, Penny’s scratched nails clutch the controls a bit too tightly, stomach in knots. Her character, a surfer with angel wings and bright red sunburn, holds the key to the boss they’ve been after since they were seven years old.

“Penny this is a _really huge deal can you even BELIEVE this?!_ We’re finally going to take on the Tentacle Queen after _all these years!_ This is crazy!” Ruby’s heart thunders in her chest as she bounces repeatedly on her tiptoes, attempts to remain calm proving futile. “Well? Open it, Penny!”

“I… I’m sorry, Ruby. I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“Whaaaaat?! But… But Penny!” her friend implores, practically whines. “We’re right there! Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she mumbles softly, arms flopping to her sides. “I would rather walk around the rest of the mall, if that is alright.”

Ruby hesitates, but slowly nods, heaving a sigh. “Okay. I understand.”

“But.. if you want to stay here and finish it, Ruby, I’m sure Yang would--” Penny starts, but Ruby shakes her head, grabbing Penny’s arm in her own and squeezing 

“No way! We started this together, we’ll die together!” she shouts, causing a few people to turn away from their games and stare. Ruby chuckles, awkwardly waving as she begins to shuffle back out of the arcade, dragging the taller girl with her. 

To call this a mall would kind of be an overstatement. It’s more of an outdoor stripmall with a bunch of little stores all around it and a fountain in front of it. The second the girls step outside of the deep, dark arcade and into the sun they can see the boardwalk and the ocean that’s only a minute or so away. 

“Sooooooo… where do you wanna go, Penny? We could go to the ToyBox and get some food, and they have those cute figurines you like so much!” Ruby prods after Penny takes a step back to free her arms. They immediately wrap around her midsection before Penny places a small smile on her face. 

“I’m not really hungry, Ruby, and I don’t think they’d let us play with anything in the store without at least paying for a meal…” Penny starts. “Is there anything you wanted to do that isn’t defeating the…”

“Tentacle Queen?” 

“Yes.” 

“Wellllll.” Ruby knits her fingers together, grin growing on her face. “There issss one thing!” With a twirl and a skip, Ruby takes off, pace quick. “Dad says he thinks I need to get a…” she makes air quotes with her fingers. “Job! Uncle Qrow doesn’t really think I need one yet, buuut the _first step_ to getting a job is having professional clothing, so!” Her fist pats at her chest as she clears her throat. “We should totally go buy some dresses!”

“Dresses?” Penny asks, though it’s more to herself than to her friend. Usually, she’d go dress shopping with… “Isn’t… that something you and Weiss usually do though?” 

“Well… yeah! But I thought that we could go somewhere that doesn’t have a bunch of ballgowns?” Ruby’s nose wrinkles before she turns back slightly to still talk to Penny. “Weiss has really weird ideas of dresses, not _all_ of them have to be floor length! Besides! There’s a really nice consignment shop next to the bar and grill place, and we could look for something for us there!”

Penny’s silent, simply nodding her head as Ruby babbles on and on. Eventually her gaze wanders, emerald eyes staring off to the sea. She can hear the waves crashing onto the beach from here, smell the salt in the air, feel the water on her skin as her toes bury into the warm, grainy sand. 

‘Penny.’

Her fingers curl instinctively in front of her, and she knows that she’d give anything to be able to swim in the ocean, even if for a moment...

“Penny?” Ruby asks, snapping Penny out of her thoughts. Ruby lingers in front of the aforementioned shop, one that’s tucked away into a corner. Beautiful prom dresses shine faintly through window display glass, along with a tux that’s starting to get bleached by the sun due to sitting in the window for as long as anyone can remember. 

“Yes, Ruby?” she chirps, blinking as she smiles back at her friend.

“I… asked if you were ready to go inside. Are you sure you don’t want to go back and try to defeat the Tentacle Queen instead?” Eyebrows knitted, she feels sweat begin to form down her back. At this point, she doesn’t care what they do so long as they don’t stay outside for even one more minute. Bright sun beats against her skin as her friend hesitates, mind thousands of miles away.

“I’m certain!” quickly retorts the freckled girl, smile anxious as she stiffly hurries to the shop’s glass door and throws the entry open wide. “After you, Ruby! I am ready when you are.”

“Riiiight,” she says with sudden suspicion on her lips, but she doesn’t question her friend’s antics just yet. Instead, she merrily makes her way inside, immediately struck by the artificial scent of cinnamon and bleach.

Longer rather than wide, the store stretches surprisingly far back, and without Penny to keep her on track Ruby might spend hours among messily displayed wracks of purses and bizarre knickknacks. Her hands briefly settle on a dusty snow globe with an oddly enchanting calico cat in the center, green eyes piercing, and Penny actually laughs despite her mood. “Are you going to purchase it, Ruby? I think it looks _wonderful!_ ”

“No,” she says wistfully as she returns the globe to a high-up shelf, stretching as she places it amongst peculiar statues and mom mugs. As fake snow flecks swirl around and around, she forces her head away. “Yang would definitely kill me if I filled our desk with any more weird stuff.” Last time, Ruby brought home a hand-sized garden gnome statue that she affectionately nicknamed ‘Gnomey,’ and Yang only managed to be briefly entertained before covering the nightmare with a cloth so she could sleep at night.

Luckily, the store’s dress section comprises only two rows, which makes their search a snap. Ruby picks out a flared black dress that hangs just above the knees with sleeves chest-level around her upper arms and round, white buttons that trail up to a cutesy collar. As she steals a glance behind her shoulder, she finds Penny eyeing pale, soft green lace that falls almost to the ankles. “Do you think this will look nice on me?” she inquires as her nails softly pick at the freckles on her cheeks, frowning.

“Oh geez Penny, it’s _super_ cute! Of course it’ll look nice on you!” Two snappy finger guns motion toward the dressing room curtains in the back. “Why don’t we go try these on, okay?”

Penny glances down at the dress in her hands, at the lace, at the price tag that rubs against her wrist, and she can feel a cold chill run down her spine.

She smiles.

“Alright, Ruby! Lead the way.” she responds, and she trots faithfully after Ruby. The dressing rooms here are like dressing rooms everywhere else in this town-- colored after the beach with blue walls, yellow accents, and green curtains that come forward to protect the modesty of people inside. 

It doesn’t take Penny long to figure out how to put on the dress. She kicks off her shoes, and picked-at nails gently prick at a few strands that don’t look quite right until they do. Penny supposes that it looks nice, with a heart shaped cut and lace that trails to her ankles in the back and curves upward to cut across her knees in the front, but…

But what, Penny? She asks herself, eyes closing as she raises a hand to brush her hair back behind her temples, but she doesn’t get an answer.

She never gets an answer. Instead, she gets Ruby calling out her name from the stall next to her, asking if Penny’s ready and how the dress fits. 

Taking a measured breath, Penny edges her way out of the dressing room. Fingers laced together over her stomach, she slowly turns to look at the mirror at the end of the hallway. She can hear Ruby clapping loudly over the dress she chose, but all she can focus on is how prominent her freckles are, how her collarbones stick out from her skin, how her knees tend to knock together when she’s standing still, how bright her hair is and how it sticks out from everything else and she just--

“Penny?” Ruby asks, arms long since around the taller girl’s body. She sways slightly, frown returning to her lips as she stares up at her face. “... Penny?” she asks again, quieter this time.

“... … yes, Ruby?”

“Are… you okay?” 

A bout of silence. Penny closes her eyes, fingers curling even tighter over the shimmery fabric of the dress, and she wants to scream and scream and scream but when she tries, all that comes out is a quiet, defeated-- “No.” 

She shakes her head.

“I’m not okay, Ruby.”

“Well… why don’t we go home?” offers Ruby, tone laced with worry. “It’s getting late, anyway. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice holds indifference, but Ruby knows being out right now probably isn’t helping.

“Do you wanna talk about it later?”

“No, thank you.”  
___

Ruby’s front door groans loudly when opened. Yang topples onto the couch and immediately stakes her claim, hissing faintly as she grossly sneezes into the pillow. “Great. I’m _sick._ ”

“Sick of what, Sun’s terrible dad jokes?” Ruby replies, tossing the bag of skates and other equipment on the livingroom floor with a heavy _thunk._ There’s a faint bark from behind the couch as the great dane rises, lazily stretching as he moves to crawl on top of the couch with the oldest sister. She doesn’t complain, other than letting out a faint grumble and patting his side. 

“Hey there, big guy.” she coughs into the couch. She gets a mild bark in response. 

“Hey, _hey._ What did I say about throwing that stuff down in the house?” Qrow’s at the top of the stairs before they know it, and Ruby’s cringing as she freezes in her tracks to the kitchen. 

“... uhmmmmmmm. That I shouldn’t do it becauseeee…” she starts, wringing her hands as she looks up at Qrow, who grumbles, sighs, rubs his face, considers taking a drink of his flask and shakes his head. The stairs creak under his weight as he ambles down the stairs, one hand in his pocket as he moves to stroke Jimmy’s head and brush back a conked out Yang’s hair with the other.

“Never mind. Hey there, Penny.” 

“Greetings, Mister Qrow.” 

He blinks, brow instantly creased with worry. “Sounds like you got hit by a bus. Want some water, carrot top?” he offers, but she simply shakes her head. “Alright, well… your dad should be over any minute to pick you up, so no bolting off again.”

“I will not.” The sound rings empty, and Qrow’s tempted to pry before he realizes something else is different, too.

“Hey…” he ruffles Penny’s hair, squinting down like that’ll somehow help him locate what’s missing. “Where’s your bow, kiddo? Never seen you go without it before.”

“Oh, it’s…” she reaches into her pocket, then freezes.

Empty.

“I have to go,” she abruptly mumbles.

“Go where, exactly?” Red eyes flicker to the clock and find that it’s half an hour before midnight. “Don’t really see the point in you going anywhere at this hour, if you ask me. Just hang tight--like I said, Jimmy’s on his way.”

 

“No.” The response is automatic, sharp as she checks her pockets repeatedly, pale face only going paler with each empty pat to her pockets.

Ruby’s eyes nearly pop right out of her head. “Wh...a? Penny!” Shock colors her voice as she stands taken aback, quickly glancing to Qrow to gauge his reaction. “This… This is mutiny!”

Qrow’s got one brow up and a questioning expression, hands falling into his pockets. “Y’know,” he begins, “I didn’t peg you as the type to have a rebellious phase, but I guess I was wrong. Wanna talk about it, Penny? Whatever it is, I’ve been there and done that.”

“No. You. You…” she mumbles, and her eyes are wide as she glances at the clock. It’s late. It’s late and she knows but she has to leave right now or it’ll be too late. The girl takes another step back, filling her lungs with slow, careful breath.

Then she takes another step back. Ruby immediately catches her shoulder, and Qrow watches Penny’s hands immediately ball up into fists as she’s abruptly dragged toward her and Yang’s room. “We’re gonna have a talk, Uncle Qrow! Okay?! Okay!” 

She flings open a pale white door with a little paper puppy ornament that hangs from the handle; one side reads “Woofing Around” while the other reads “Outta Woofs.” The ornament spins as the door slams, revealing that she and Penny are firmly Outta Woofs.

“What. Was. That?!” Demands Ruby with her hands on her hips, confusion setting chapped lips in a thin line. “He didn’t do anything to you. What are you thinking?”

“I. I…” The redhead stammers, hands immediately going to curl into her hair as she paces, back and forth across soft black carpet. “You don’t understand, Ruby. I need to go. I need to find it.” 

“Find what, Penny?! Nothing can be that important that you’ll go out right now to find it, right?” she asks, reaching for Penny’s hands, but the taller girl ducks away, backing up until her spine hits the window.

The window. The cool breeze makes the curtain flutter around Penny’s arms, tugs at her hair.

“You can talk to me, Penny!” Ruby yells, still stepping closer and closer. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever you need, we can go get it tomorr--”

“No!” Penny yells back, shaking her head. “I need to find it, or I can’t go home!” 

The sound of the window frame rattling as harsh hands shove the glass open makes Ruby freeze. “Find _what?_ Where?”

“Myself, Ruby!” she shouts, nervous energy causing cracks in her voice. Her chest heaves, breath heavy as anxiety carries her right over the frame and into cold, dark grass that crunches beneath her feet as she runs.

“Penny, wait!”

She doesn’t.  
So, Ruby takes a deep, steadying breath, and mumbles an apology to Uncle Qrow as she dashes forward and flies right through the window in pursuit.

There’s a light, polite knock on the door a few minutes later. “Hey, you two alright in there? You’re awfully quiet.” Normally, he’d respect their privacy enough to wait for them to open up. But when they don’t, he sighs, warns that he’s coming in, and slowly pries open the door.

All he finds is a wide open window, plushies and clothes scattered all around the floor, and two empty, messy beds.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We're late. Holidays happened and we got super sick.
> 
> Because we are late, we have an extra intermission planned featuring Ozpin and James--coming soon to an archive near you!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that it achieved slight world building!


	5. V: Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin and James go way back.

Never, ever does he reach the cliff. Even after all these years spent aimlessly pursuing answers, he cannot bring himself to the cliff, and perhaps that’s why he fears what lies beyond the rocks far more than anything that could lie within the trees. More than anything, however, Ozpin fears her.

Perhaps it’s the way she purrs into his ears, how she covers his eyes with hands too cold, too long nails resting against his face.

“This way,” she mumbles, voice like honey. His shoulders relax, give in. “Keep your eyes closed.” Her hands pull away, carding through his black hair. Footsteps come around to his front, and she takes his hands into her own. He squeezes, forcing every ounce of will to keep his eyes pressed shut.

“Are you sure?” he mumbles back, grip tight. He can still remember the nail polish she used, vibrant red that cost their combined allowance to purchase. 

“Yes,” she says in turn, hand leaving his for a moment to stroke a strand of loose hair behind his ear, behind the ear of his iron frame glasses. “Would I ever lie to you?” 

_Yes_ , he wants to scream. _You would lie to him, and you have_.

“I want to go home.” When she touches him, every last muscle turns rigid. He locks up, palms dripping sweat, words caught in his chest. Teeth graze tongue, but he can’t quite register the slight taste of the wound when he pierces himself.

No light resides in these woods, thick and tall and dark. He hears the crunch of grass, all else silent as they move together, but he can barely make out anything else. Nothing but her, but pale skin and thin lips and soft curls that blend seamlessly into darkness.

Her mouth curls. “No.”

“But…” The word whispers, soft, like he’s afraid she’ll hear.

 _”No,”_ she spits, amber eyes scolding. “I’m afraid that was never your home to begin with.”

 

“I’ll tell her you’re being cross with me again...!” There’s a sniffle in the dark.

“Are you _crying?_ ” A laugh. “Could you be any more pathetic?”

“N-No! I’m not crying… I’m… I’m sick. I caught a cold.” Though the boy hardly manages his lie, he does feel ill. His heart pounds, and his head empties, and he wants to lie down.

“Then you’ll do nothing but use up her money as always, so why bother to return?” With an easy shrug she sets forward again, hand coiling around his wrist like a snake.

When she can hear the crash of waves against rocks, she laughs softly, a satisfied sound.

“... you know I don’t like it when you play pranks on me.” A mumble, his free arm coming up to rub at his captured forearm. He hates the way he phrases it, the way he plays right into what she wants, each and every time. _May we go home now?_ “She’ll be upset to know we’ve gone this far...” 

 

Cold hands find the shoulders of his coat and slam; his back hits hard tree bark, and when he whimpers, she pushes harder, nails digging through fabric and sinking into skin. “I don’t care what mother thinks. Do you know what she thinks of you?” Detached and empty, her words flow from spiteful voids and endless, bitter hurt. “All you have ever been to this family is a burden. And I refuse to allow you to _continue._ ”

When he shoves her to the forest floor, into the depths of snow and ice, she _screams_ , but he doesn’t linger long enough to let that scream be anything more than what it is. 

 

Without his cane his speed practically halts, but he doesn’t cease his escape attempt. Even with his limp, he reaches through empty void for support from branches and bark and plants unseen. He staggers, falls, but still manages to stand and sprint against the deathly crunch of dead leaves encroaching right behind his steps.

Then his world spins, weight crushing against his back, hands around his neck as ground collides against body. Knees and elbows and cheeks certainly scraped, he sobs face down in the dirt.

He can feel her words wash over him, all cold tones and sharp points that threaten to choke him as hands coil around his throat. He mumbles her name over and over as he heaves for air, forcing his head up to glance forward.

But all he sees is snow, and even that falls away when he reaches out with the arm that’s not pinned under his chest. He feels where the snow stops forming, where the world stops existing, fingers dangling over his reality's edge as water crashes below.

“ _You are nothing but a waste,_ ” she hisses, fingers sinking into his coat as she pries his head up completely, hand on his chin as his fingers dig into ground that isn’t there and his lungs scream for breaths that he can’t seem to take and he

falls

 

and spirals

 

and tumbles until he’s splashed in the face.

“Taking a nap?”

Hurried palms wipe uselessly at his face as he coughs. Salt water burns his eyes as he bolts upright, coughs more, then slowly regains coherent vision through narrowed eyes. Overhead the sun burns without the clouds’ mitigation, sky endlessly blue. And directly in his line of vision rests a dark haired boy with legs criss-crossed, hands in his lap, and a cheeky smile that easily reaches crinkled blue eyes.

Ozpin wishes he still had enough water remaining to spit directly back at him, but unfortunately all he has to his name are salty lungs and soaked shorts.

“That was rude, James.” he grumbles, stretching his arms out in front of him, fingers lacing together before he pulls them over his head. His toes curl in the dry sand, shoes lost somewhere on the ever expanding beach. If he can’t find them, he supposes James could always help him find another pair. 

“I have no idea what you mean, Oz.” James responds, grinning as he leans forward, hands moving onto his knees as he ends up nose to nose with his peer. Ozpin blinks, eyes narrowing, unamusement lining his lips as he stares back. “I need a boon.”

“... No one says ‘boon’ anymore, you know,” he responds and gets an eyeroll in response. 

“I need you to teach me how to still the ocean.” Reaching out, James places rough, heavy hands on his shoulders. The line of Ozpin’s lips only grows thinner as he’s gently shaken. “And before you say no, I _did_ promise to teach you how to skip stones.”

“That isn’t something I can teach you.” Gently, he pushes the other boy’s hands away, blowing a too-long strand of hair in his eyes away with a frustrated huff. “I’m not even certain how I do it. It’s… natural.” Overhead calls a fussy gull, and he smiles to himself as wings spread wide and glide the bird to safe sands. Could a gull teach him how to fly…? No more than he can teach his friend something so innate, he imagines.

“Yeah, right. You have that book, don’t you?” James responds, pressing his lips together while his eyebrows furrow. Ozpin sighs, tempted to just lie back and let what come may, but he knows that James won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

Sometimes, Ozpin admires that about him. Other times, however, he wishes that James were a little less _assertive._

“I do. That’s not the point,” he says, pulling himself to his feet and brushing the sand off of his knees. His toes dig into the sand, still warm from the midday sun. “... But I’ll do it for you. A promise is a promise.” Rise disgruntled, he staggers to his feet with a rasping cough, vision temporarily speckled with deep purple. “The key,” he murmurs, taking an uncertain breath with hands outstretched, forward as if to embrace the choppy sea’s entirety, “is to first calm your own waves.”

There’s a snort from slightly behind him. “That’s corny.”

“James,” he frowns, gaze fixating on the ocean’s distant edge. “I’m trying to focus. Please?” There’s no reply, but he imagines the boy nodded regardless when silence ensues. With another calming breath he repeats firmly, “You can’t do this without being calm,” perhaps to assuage his own leftover anxieties, to forget sharp nails and sharper smiles. His mind and body battle, beating heart against exhausting images that run unwelcomed through trembling hands and knees.

Then two solid hands find shaky shoulders and lend stability, heavy and warm. “Maybe that’s enough,” James suggests gently, and he can picture the way concern colors his expression, dips his brows and mouth.

He leans back slightly into him, nodding. “Maybe,” he repeats, eyelids heavy with lost sleep. “James?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” he manages softly, slowly relaxing.

“... Ozpin.” Frustration lingers at his tone’s edges.

“Yes?” he replies, annoyance slipping into his tongue. Amber eyes reluctantly reopen to find… “Oh.”

To his left and right the ocean continues to roll, waves roughly kissing the sand. Directly in front of him, however, rest waters still enough to compose wide, peaceful lakes, clear and unmoving. Creatures of all kinds busy themselves beneath glassy blues, swimming and meddling within seaweed that creeps along the sandy floor.

“That’s not teaching, Oz!” James groans, removing his hands from Ozpin’s shoulders to dart to the side, swift hands picking up a few of the rocks nearby. “ _This_ is how it’s done. What’s the first step when you’re skipping rocks?”

Ozpin’s eyes flicker away from the ocean, away from the jellyfish that’s calmly drifting across the surface of the now-still water. Making a noise, the shorter boy looks over to his friend, shrugging faintly. “You’d get a stone that’s flat on one side, right?”

“Correct.” Confidently, James shoves half the rocks into Ozpin’s unwaiting hands; they drop and scatter, and he belatedly picks them up, groaning at the extra expended effort. “Now, what do you think the next step is?”

“Not shoving them in my direction would be a decent place to start.” Ozpin grumbles. “James, please.”

“Fine. I’ll just tell you.” 

“Why don’t you just throw and I watch?”

“You aren’t much fun, Ozpin.” James rolls his eyes for the fifth time as he pulls his arm back, running his thumb over the smooth stone before sending it skipping across the water, little ripples marking where the stone lands.

Thinking the matter simple enough, Ozpin takes one of many stones and mimics his friend’s wrist. Falling fast, the stone descends into a school of frightened fish sent this way and that by the sudden intrusion. Cheeks bright, he laughs, and James laughs, and he sinks every last rock he’s given up until sunset. “We could try again tomorrow,” offers his ever-optimistic friend.

But Ozpin shakes his head. “Everyone has their strengths, James.”

____

When Ozpin’s eyes open, it’s midday. He’s resting in the shade of the giant oak tree that he’s known since he was a boy and next to a cluster of graves that he came back to when he first returned to this small, beachside town.

And James Ironwood is there too, he supposes, hovering over him with brows knit and mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“Hello, general.” he says, eyes drifting closed as James opens his mouth to say something, anything, only to stop when Ozpin raises a hand. “... It’s nice to see you again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back, Oz?” he finally asks, words all harsh angles and sharp tones, but something softer lies underneath. Concern, Ozpin realizes. James is always concerned about the people he values.

Or perhaps it’s love? He’s never bothered to ask. 

“I haven’t been here for particularly long, James. Otherwise, I would certainly have notified you.” Cane at his side, he stands on slow feet, smile worn. “I suppose I apologize for the short notice.”

“The lack of notice,” he corrects flatly, then sighs, then allows his jaws and shoulders the privilege of relaxation as he moves forward to scoop the shorter man into his arms, not letting go. “Why _are_ you back?”

“Is the idea of a simple visit lost on you?” he says wryly, arms slowly shifting around him, cane loose at his friend’s back. “Perhaps I want to catch up with old friends. Coffee sounds particularly nice.” He sighs, visions of sweet bean water swirling in his mind.

“It does,” he agrees, but worry slides into his throat. “Why don’t you explain to me on the way, then?”

Softly, the man shakes his head, reluctant to let go. “You won’t like it, James. I assure you of that much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo. It's shorter because it's in addition to the chapter we're hopefully releasing this week. Wish us luck!
> 
> ... Hopefully they sounded somewhat younger? W h a t e v e r, we tried. I think they're cute.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Qrow can do nothing but stare his new reality dead in the face and pray.

James Ironwood doesn’t assume anything of the barely ajar front door when at first his worn family jeep rolls into the driveway. Perhaps he thought he’d find the kids on the front or back porch playing some card game as usual with at least slight supervision from the resident alcoholic. Maybe he’s leaning against the palm in their backyard, minding his business. Maybe Penny, Ruby and Yang are on the trampoline that bounces tiny bodies slightly higher than the backyard’s rickety wooden fence, like always.

He doesn’t assume anything after gently knocking on the front door and, after a few moments of pause, letting himself in. Maybe Penny, Ruby and Yang are in the their bedroom, playing that odd fighting game that Qrow’s kids are fond of. Maybe Qrow’s in the kitchen, separating his alcohol into smaller containers so he can put them into the freezer in some futile attempt at limiting his alcohol intake for the day.

James can help but feel his jaw set, shoulders go tense when he realizes the house is silent save for the soft snores from someone on the couch. Qrow’s dog is already at his knees, nosing them, tail wagging as he prepares himself to jump on top of the man.

“Don’t.” he mumbles, pressing his hand against Jimmy’s head and getting a whine and his fingers covered in drool in return. Reluctantly, he accepts his slobbery fate by this...creature before an exhausted, nasally voice coughs out from behind the cushions.

“Jimmy?” she mumbles unhappily as she barely crawls into a sitting position. Her arms limply dangle over the couch’s back, nose scrunched as an unwelcome half-sneeze catches her with an open-mouthed groan. Another cough, an actual sneeze, and then finally the recognition: “ _Jimmy?_ ”

His brow raises. “Who?” Since when did Yang call him by that nickname?

“Oh, y’know.” Her chest heaves, breath shaky as she counts off on her fingers. “Qrow’s dog. You.” A pause, then an empty sigh. “Yep. That’s about it.”

Recognition crosses his expression, fists curling. “The dog.”

“Yep,” she says again, energy nonexistent He isn’t sure whether he’s offended or flattered until she continues with, “He cares about you, you know? I think it’s pretty…” Another shaky breath. “Sweet. Try not to be too mad, alright?”

“I thought he was teasing.” His hands slowly release as his tone softens almost apologetically.

“Well, maybe he was?” An empty shrug. “I’m not exactly an Uncle Qrow Whisperer. I just kinda… watch, and listen. Sometimes. I mean, maybe it started as a joke, but who can say? Uncle Qrow’s… well, he’s Uncle Qrow.”

His heart breaks. Poor girl. She’s so unbelievably raspy, and there’s not a soul in sight, so he’s instantly in the kitchen and then back at her side with a bottle of liquid cough syrup. “Here. You sound _awful._ ”

“Thanks, Uncle Ironwood,” she miserably replies as she opens the bottle and knocks back pasty liquid that tastes like artificial cherry. “It’s hard to think when you’re down sometimes. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Where’s your real uncle, Yang?” He asks through a stifled yawn, eyes fluttering slightly. Today has been filled with nothing but errands for the man, and he desires nothing more than to put himself to bed. Questioning Penny about whatever may have gone down with the Schnees can unfortunately wait until tomorrow.

“You are my real uncle,” she yawns back, exhaustion contagious. “But…” She hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “First you have to promise not to get _too_ mad at him, alright? Like, for real.”

Immediately his eyes narrow, his heart rate picks up, and his follow-up question ensues with no promises made as he snaps. “Where’s Penny?”

“God, uh…” She shakes her head, rubbing desperately at her temples as though placating her pounding skull. “I was mostly sleeping. I mean really, really sleeping, okay? They said… something about a bow?” Jimmy paws his way up and beside her on the couch, spilling partially into her lap with head in paws. “Not now, boy,” she whispers soothingly as easygoing palms stroke the top of his furry head.

Good thing, too, because the desperation in Ironwood’s voice might otherwise unnerve. “Where?” he repeats, resisting the urge to pace.

“The…” Her nose scrunches, and then she snaps her fingers, revelation dull and tired in her eyes. “The mall. They went to the mall! The only one we’ve got in town.”

 _”Thank you,”_ he says over his shoulder as he storms right out the door.

He’s going to kill him.

James hands are shaking when he reaches his car, fingers wrapping around the door and flinging it open. Plopping down in the driver’s seat, he cranks the car before fishing his cellphone out of his pocket, tossing it on the dashboard, and hissing out:

“Call Qrow Branwen.” 

Restless breath crackles against the receiver when he finally picks up on the third ring. “Look, this isn’t the time!”

“You have a lot of explaining to do. And I expect it done now.” With the pent up rage of a mother elephant, babies stolen, his fist slams against the car horn the moment some asshole decides to cut him off. “Learn to drive, or have your license revoked, you…!” He fades into a string of profanities that Qrow’s seldom heard from his mouth.

“I take it you’re pretty pissed at me.” His voice sounds further and further away, muffled by wind and the crunch of grass beneath his feet.

“What do you think, Qrow?” Some mixture of disappointment and pure rage hisses through clenched teeth. “This is inexcusable. Where is my daughter?”

“This isn’t how it looks,” he begins. “She’s the one that--”

“ _Where’s Penny?_ ”

“I don’t know, Jimmy!” Increasingly distressed, he begins to yell. “I don’t have any damn idea, alright?”

“And that is precisely the _problem._ You _should_ know.” There’s not a hint of sympathy in his tone.

“You think I don’t know that I should know that?!” Frustration twists his thoughts, words clumsy on delivery.

A beat of silence. “Pardon?” He’s on the main road now, the final stretch toward the mall. The speed limit says forty, but he’s definitely _not_ doing forty, and there are no stoplights to heed for quite awhile.

“Just stop being so goddamned stubborn and… Hey, hey, Jimmy, stop. Stop the car, it’s me! Come on!”

… Briefly, he considers letting the man continue on foot. There he is, a mere block away, waving his arms widely as though to flag down a UFO. He’s in the middle of the road, and Ironwood almost doesn’t react quickly enough. Brutally, his foot slams down, emergency brakes engaged. 

Qrow’s eyes shut when he hears tires squeal against asphalt, and for once he’s finally sure this is it. This is where James Ironwood kills him.

“Get in the car, Qrow,” says the small voice on his phone, and Qrow doesn’t hesitate for a second before he’s jogging to the car. He opens the passenger side door, sliding in and carding a hand through his hair before sending a glance to James. The man is trembling, hands gripping the wheel firmly. Metal fingers dig into the foam of the steering wheel as he glares ahead, teeth clenched together. “Seatbelt.”

“Got it.”

James’s face is crimson, and his shoulders occasionally shake. Usually, when James gets like this, Qrow would try to calm him down by cracking a few jokes, but…

“Hey.”

“ _What?_ ”

“She’s gonna be okay, James.” Red eyes flee for the window view, scanning for their daughters. “Ruby went with her. ‘Course, she’s not picking up either. But they’ll keep each other outta trouble, and they’ll be okay.” He sounds so sure, so calm, even though he’s still breathless from his chase, chest heaving.

“It is almost one in the morning,” he states simply. “Fine or not, they are _too young_ to be out this late for _any_ reason.”

“And what’s gonna happen, huh?” Qrow snorts, talking mostly to reassure himself. “We live in the middle of nowhere, James. Things don’t happen here.” His hands curl as those thoughts quickly self-correct, fingers brushing perfectly-healed skin.

“Qrow,” he hisses, tone warning. “I understand that you were… worse, at their age. But this… even if they are perfectly well, this isn’t acceptable.” He has work tomorrow. Qrow has work tomorrow. There’s a growl as he’s forced to slow, not wanting to hit the two cats skittering across the concrete. “Why did you let them go?”

“I didn’t,” he insists.

“They are two young girls, Qrow. You’re telling me that you, a grown man, couldn’t stop two _fourteen year olds?_ ”

Qrow groans, throwing his arms up in the air. “They left through the damn window! What was I supposed to do!?” 

“What do you _mean_ they left through the window?”

“I mean that your kid flipped out, Ruby took her aside to calm her down, and they both crawled outta the window and _left_ , Jimmy.” 

“Well, why the hell weren’t you watching them? At what point did they have the opportunity to _leave?_ ” Anger gives way to distress. Even if pointing fingers eschews productive problem solving, he feels so sick. “They could’ve been hurt,” he finally says, quieter.

“I know,” Qrow replies, tone easygoing, and Ironwood’s not sure whether or not he wants to hit him or thank him for his composure. “But we can’t always stop them from being hurt, alright? And I’m telling you that I didn’t see it coming.”

And at once, the livid pressure in Ironwood’s chest loosens. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” his friend responds coolly. “I know how you get, Jimmy.” Emotions have never been his strength, and he’s not about to blame him for that, either. He’s seen a lot, and all Qrow hopes is that he’ll stay happy. “Let’s just focus on getting them home. Alright?”

“Alright.”  
___

Speed’s always been on her side, but no matter how quickly she runs, Penny is just slightly faster. Ruby catches glimpses of curly hair darting behind corners, long legs dipping into alleyways and scrambling over chain link fences.  
Penny never looks back no matter how many times she calls her name.

By the time Ruby reaches the docks, each gulp of air burns her throat and lungs. She feels the docks groan beneath her feet, hears water slam against old, barnacle covered supports that Uncle Qrow always says are ready to collapse at any moment. Except she’s pretty sure that he’s just exaggerating, that he’s just talking to talk whenever he brought them down here when they were younger, to scare them away from jumping into the waters under the pier.

She can hear the faint shrill of an alarm as she cuts through an alleyway between the old noodle shop and a new cafe that Uncle Qrow complains about. Something about competition, something, she can’t think. Glass crunches under her sneakers, the world stops, the waves grow louder, alarm bells swell in her ears. Frozen, she shakily takes in the shattered front door, entryway jagged, sharp on all sides. Glass dangles overhead, so she turns sideways, ducks, and prays. Her jacket sleeve catches, rips, but she ignores the sound as antsy energy crashes through her. “Penny? Penny, where are you?!”

There’s no response as Ruby treads deeper into the store, each step causing her heart to swell and twist as silver eyes take in the damage. Stepping over a downed clothing rack, sequin covered dresses and ribbons pooling over the floor, Ruby narrowly dodges being hit by a pair of jeans that are chucked over the dressing room curtains.

A chill goes down Ruby’s spine as she slowly approaches the dressing room curtains, hand reaching forward to yank back the curtains. Penny wouldn’t do this.

“It’s… not here?” a voice mumbles, yellow curtain swishing around the person inside as they push back the curtain with a long, rusted iron pipe. 

“Peeeeennnyy...?” Baffled, she takes a slow, steady step forward, hand outstretched. “Can you… mayyybe give me that pipe and go home?”

As though unable to hear the girl, she simply carries on conversing with the air. “I dropped it here. It… it has to be here. It has to be!”

“ _What_ has to be here, Penny?” Ruby shouts, hand still extended to grab her friend. The only thing that stops her is the way Penny turns, red curls bouncing as the pipe in her grasp draaaaaaags along the floor. It sounds like a school desk being pushed around a classroom, and the sound alone is almost enough to make her freeze in her tracks.

What really makes Ruby stop is Penny’s eyes. Usually warm, wide, and full of life, now only brim with fear, confusion, and something else Ruby can’t identify that chills her to the bone. The taller girl’s head tilts slightly to the side, dilated pupils staring into contracted ones that are ringed with silver. 

“It has to be _here_ ,” she mumbles again, fingers loose around the pipe as she puts one foot in front of the other. The alarms don’t seem to phase Penny as she lumbers over dressing racks and downed mannequins, even though at this point Ruby has to clamp her hands over her ears to protect them from the noise. 

“Penny...” she mumbles, biting her lip before shifting her weight. Her eyes flicker about the store, still trying to take in the damage that still doesn’t feel real. If Penny won’t listen to her, then the best thing to do is to help her find what she’s looking for.

With a nod, Ruby sets off to work, systematically walking back and forth through the store, eyes focused on the ground as she looks for any signs of pastel pink. Her eyes fleetingly lock with the peculiar cat figure from the other day, but not even that lifts her spirits. High and low, near and far, she finds herself amongst dusty shelves, long forgotten quarters and all sorts of clothes in messy rows. Her head pokes beneath the aisles, above the aisles, around corners and all places possible… but there’s no sign of Penny’s bow. None.

Empty-handed and wracked with fear, she returns to the girl’s dressing room with her head slumped down. “I don’t know if it’s here, Penny. They might have thrown it away.” There’s no answer, and she doesn’t expect one. But suddenly, she feels as though the question finds resolution in and of itself: they threw away the bow. Surely, then…?

Slowly toeing her way around Penny, who then promptly marches over to the counter to continue her search, she slips into the dressing rooms. Like most of the areas touched by Penny’s feverish rampage, the dressing room had seen better days. The trashcan in the corner had been tipped over littering old price tags, pieces of string that have come off secondhand clothes all over the floor. Clothes lay everywhere, either stuck to the hangers that are still on the walls or tossed over and clinging to the top of the walls and curtains themselves.

With a small breath, Ruby crouches down, hands shifting through the mess at her feet. She knows that Penny’s probably gone through the can as well, but she also knows that panic makes everything cloudy, makes the thing that she’s looking for into something else and hides what she’s searching for from her senses. Swift hands sort through candy wrappers mixed with empty bottles and plastic, until finally finding soft fabric.

“Penny!” she shouts victoriously, grin bright as she turns and faces her. Her words move fast, excitement bouncing her toes. “I did it! Well, uh, we did it? Doesn’t matter! Let’s get out of here, okay?” Ruby’s mind holds only the relief of assisting her friend and the anxiety of what she’s done, what _they’ve_ done, alarm still droning, glass still shattered.

“You found it?” Penny mumbles, eyes going wide as she stares at Ruby from behind the counter. The smaller girl doesn’t even have the time to blink before Penny’s in her face, snatching the ribbon out of her hand and pressing it against her cheeks, eyes closing as a relieved sigh trickles through her nose. 

“Yeah..! Yeah, I found it! So we should _really_ get out of here now, okay?” Ruby says, placing her hands on Penny’s shoulders, turning her on her heels, and beginning to force her towards the door. Ruby swears Penny mumbles something, but honestly, whatever she has to say to defend herself can wait until they’re outside and far, far away from this store.

“Ruby.” Her head flies to the right toward the familiar, comforting sound of her uncle’s voice. Finally, someone who would know what to do! Ironwood stands stiff a few paces away, turns his head, then starts into a hurried jog. She hears him call out Penny’s name, but Ruby doesn’t have time to process.

Because Penny’s running again. 

Her hair bounces behind her as her feet slam against the pier, kicking off her shoes as she sprints into the unknown. Ruby can hear both older men swear, and James is after his kid like a bullet while Uncle Qrow stays behind her and grabs both of her shoulders. She watches his face shift, frustration, relief, anger, _gratitude_ , all fluttering over his face before he settles on one.

“What the _hell_ were you two thinking?”

“It.. it was Penny! She was upset and she kept talking about finding herself and she,” Ruby begins to explain, but her words get faster and faster every time she opens her mouth. Her fingers twitch and she shifts her weight from one leg to the other as she stares up at him, but her eyes never directly land on his red ones. “She just jumped, Uncle Qrow! And I wanted to get you but I couldn’t just let her go out there alone so I followed and--”

“Kiddo.”

“--then she was really fast like, _really_ fast and I couldn’t catch her and then she went to the store and she broke in and there was glass everywhere and I went inside too but she had a pipe and she didn’t look okay--”

“Kiddo, c’mon.”

“--and I tried to talk to her but she wasn’t looking at me and--!”

Qrow pulls Ruby to his chest, squeezing her tightly as she presses her face into his sternum, still mumbling.

“We’ll talk about it, alright? Just not right now.” Not that Jimmy can’t handle himself, but chasing down a rebellious teen all alone isn’t always feasible.

With keys dangling in ignition, he climbs back inside Ironwood’s old jeep with Ruby at his passenger’s side. James and his daughter haven’t gotten too far, halfway to the distant docks by the time Qrow hits the gas. 

Qrow’s not sure where Penny’s going. James is still running after her, though why he’s shucking off his jacket while he sprints is lost on him. Honestly, the only place she can really head is down.

Ruby gasps -- “ _Penny!_ ” -- when she climbs over the dock railing and dives with arms perfectly poised overhead, crashing into the waters below. Ironwood proves far less graceful and instead cannonballs down into the murky waters with hands on knees.

Qrow slams on the breaks once his car hits the docks, primarily questioning what will become of the man’s prosthetics. There’s no doubt in his mind that those aren’t made for swimming. All Ruby can think about chalks up to how cold the waters are at night, about whether or not they’ll freeze up and sink like rocks. 

“Well,” Qrow interrupts as Ruby prepares to launch into paranoid ramblings about potential death. “Why don’t we see what those two crazies are pulling on us?” Calm smooths over his brows as he pulls open his door, waltzes over to the frozen girl’s passenger side and holds the door for her. “No jumping in with them. Alright?” Somehow, he feels the dread that threatens his stomach choke back, if only for her sake. This _has_ to be a prank, right? 

Ruby’s hands fiddle with the seatbelt, all of her energy fizzling at her hands as she unbuckles herself. Qrow watches as she dives under his arm, shoes pounding against old wood as she sprints towards the end of the dock. Her hands wrap around the metal railing, silver eyes flickering back and forth as she scans the water below.

Luckily, neither party proves difficult to find. James’ arms cling steadfast to the pier, and the redhead’s nestled softly against his back. When his eyes meet silver, they’re filled with exhaustion. Penny, however, looks positively nonplussed, smile slight on her lips. She looks around as though she’s never once seen the waters in her entire life, almost fascinated.

“We’ll take it from here, Ruby.” Qrow glances from her face to his as he hears James say the most ridiculous, nonsensical sentence he’s heard yet. “She’ll be fine.”

“How about we help you out of there?” he replies evenly, brows ruffled. “You’re gonna freeze, Jimmy. Both of you.” Qrow watches James’s eyes shift from him to Penny, and how the father moves to hold the girl closer to his chest. Penny stretches out one of her arms, skin shimmering in the moonlight as she reaches out to run her wide, green tinted fingers over the waves that lick at their skin. She then reaches up which causes James to part his lips, only to press them together. 

“If you insist.” James says as Qrow grabs Penny’s hands and tugs her upward, foot pressed against the railing of the pier for leverage. Only when Penny’s arms are wrapped around the metal railing does Ruby scream.

Directly beneath soaked t-shirt edges, freckled skin crowds with shining scales reflective enough to catch the moon’s soft glow. Pale green patches paint her arms and color her back here and there. As Qrow takes a closer look, he staggers back, realizing that she grips the pier with smooth, webbed fingers. Beyond soaked curls, James says something, curses, but even with Qrow’s rapidly heightening stress he fails comprehension. Before he can ask, before he can even begin, Ruby does. “Ohmygosh-- Penny, your _legs_!”

Qrow takes a step or two back as he stares at the girl, his head feeling like it’s full of cotton that’s been been dunked under the ocean waves. He swears to any god that may or may not exist that he can feel himself nearly fall on his ass when James Ironwood grasps onto the side of the pier, easily lifting himself up and out of the water below.

“Hm?” Penny blinks, fin spreading out behind her as her tail curls upwards. It catches the light reflecting off the water, shimmering like a million tiny little gemstones. “Oh.” she finally responds, tilting her head as James wordlessly takes her into his arms. Her tail, easily longer than her entire body would normally be, brushes against the wooden planks.

Qrow presses his hands against his eyes when he feels it, Penny, the tail-- whatever. There’s water on his sweatpants and he wants a drink, and an explanation, and another drink so he can _forget_ because god damn his head just hurts. He can feel his hands curl at his sides, and the only thing that stops him from screaming is Penny’s eyes and Ruby placing a hand on his forearm. 

“... You’re gonna explain everything, Jimmy.” He finally says, hands curling and uncurling as he tries to keep his voice even. He watches James’s shoulders heave as he sighs, finally giving a small nod as Penny laces her arms around his neck. Her fingers hesitate for a moment before they rest themselves against the jacket that’s slung over his shoulder. 

“I will. Just not now.” James states, shutting up Qrow’s response with a glare. “... we need to get out of the area. Do you want a ride home?”

___

The ride back to the neighborhood is silent. 

James’s jeep rumbles over old potholes and cracked asphalt, causing the passengers inside to rock back and forth. Qrow swears under his breath, grabbing the side of the door and letting the metal dig into his skin.

Over the course of the ride, he watches the tail that was poking between the two front seats gradually disappear, sinking into the back of the car where the two girls sit in silence. 

Penny tucks her legs under her, hands moving to wrap around smooth skin as she continues her unending stare out the window. Ruby sits to her right, eyes closed as she rests her head against the backseat. 

Poor kid. She’s gotta be exhausted. 

“You’re gonna explain everything, James.” he grumbles out after a long, long while.

“I will, Qrow. Trust me.” James mumbles back as he turns onto the road that leads back to the rows of neat, tidy houses.

___

 

Qrow doesn’t say anything until they pull into the driveway, being the first one to move to open his door to pour out of the jeep. His chest is tight and his head is still reeling and he’s so, so grateful for fresh air and grass and the comfort of his own front yard. Ruby’s the next one to get out of the car, making eye contact with Penny and smiling before she closes the door on her side.

James is the last one to exit the jeep, long after Ruby’s gone inside. 

Qrow exhales as James’s boots crunch gravel, then grass underfoot, and he rolls his shoulders when Jimmy places his hand against Qrow’s shoulders.

“I’ve promised you an explanation, Qrow. And you’ll get one. Just not right now.” he starts, mumbling. He takes a breath, swallowing as he places his other hand on Qrow’s shoulder, prosthetic fingers pressing against his shirt. “But… how you reacted to Penny’s… form. We expected this. That’s why we don’t reveal ourselves often, in order to _protec--_ ”

Qrow snorts, shaking James off as he takes a step back, pointing a finger directly at James’s chest. 

“Oh. Oh. _Us?_ So you’re like her too, Jimmy? You’d ever think about maybe telling me about your weird fins and your--”

“Qrow.” 

“--no. No. Shut up, Jimmy, I’m not finished here. What the hell is this? Do you think you couldn’t trust me?” As he speaks, he watches James tense up, shoulders rolling back and jaw setting as he moves two steps closer for every one step Qrow takes back. 

“I _do_ trust you. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Damnit, _James_ , if you’d stop being a paranoid asshole for two sec--” Qrow stops when he makes eye contact with Penny. At some point she’s opened the backdoor, bare feet moving across the pavement. She’s stopped, passenger side open as she stares at the two of them in the grass, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed tight. “... yeah. Yeah.” he nods. “ _Later._ ”

He lingers in the front yard until they leave.

Qrow lets the front door close behind him with a soft click. The house itself is coated in darkness, and he raises hand to turn on the lightswitch before letting it drop down to his side instead. Instead, Qrow lets his eyes adjust as he takes off his shoes, letting his body guide him to the living room and onto the couch. 

He doesn’t jump when he realizes Ruby’s sitting next to him after a minute of silence, and instead he moves to press the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if he could burn out the memories of what he saw.

“... Uncle Qrow?” Ruby finally mumbles after a long while, finally tired of hearing nothing but the tick of the clock from the kitchen and the soft hum of the gaming console that’s always on under the television.

“Yeah?”

“Am I in trouble?” she asks. Qrow lifts his head up from his hands, blinking as his eyes adjust to the darkness once more. As the living room slowly comes back into focus, he finally replies.

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Ruby shifts, moving to lace her fingers together, twiddling her thumbs. “... Do we have to talk about it… right now?” 

“Nope.”

“Cool! Uhhh…” the girl pauses, and her eyes flicker over to her guardian before she decides to place a hand on his knee. “... tomorrow?”

Qrow snorts, chuckling faintly. 

“Tomorrow, kiddo.” he rumbles, hand moving to ruffle her hair, only to miss and land on her shoulder instead. Good enough, he reasons with himself. Good enough, he says to himself as Ruby finally stands and wanders into her and Yang’s bedroom.

It’s not good enough, he grumbles as he flops back on the couch, eyes closing instantly as he lets his mind plummet into black.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow finally does something he's been putting off.

Over and over he tells himself that he’s certainly not a cat person. Nope, he’s just feeding her, that’s what he says the first time the furball has the guts and hops right onto the shabby wooden bar. Emboldened, she returns the next week and the next, and now he sucks his itching throat up with benadryl and willful ignorance whenever antsy paws bat his skin.

The day after all hell breaks loose, she boldly dives dead center onto a recently dried dinner plate, nubbed tail expectantly flicking now and then. Rough hands attempt to gather the huge beast up primarily for health and safety reasons, but she wrestles with him, squirms and worms and throws a fit. Deep desires for pre-opening hour peace win out, and he watches her land nimbly when dropped back down, glass plate clattering but remaining solid.

Cracking knees bend as his forehead meets fluffy fur, grumble deep and glum in his chest. “At least you won’t betray me, furball,” he says, tone conversational. “There’s no way you’re a fish. You eat too many of ‘em for me and my checkbook to keep track of anymore.” His rise starts low and slow, limbs sore and achy from last night’s impromptu run.

And then, as the clock strikes, he gruffly opens and tries to carry on like nothing ever happened.

All day, even the slightest mention of fish proves unsettling. One minute he’s pan-frying salmon, and the next he’s wondering whether or not Kali Belladonna’s got dorsal fins hidden on her back. “Is something burning?” he hears her call from the creaky bar stools outside his kitchen just as he zones in, smoke and charred skin hitting his nose. 

He jolts, curses, tosses the whole thing in the trash and starts over. “Yeah,” he calls back, head poking around the corner. “It’ll be another minute. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, please,” she says with good humor, politely covering her mouth as she laughs wholeheartedly. “I’m in no rush. Take your time.”

He does, but he gets things right and slides her the usual with a boiling cup of green tea. “So,” he begins with lips pursed, “how’s the household holdin’, Kali?”

“Quite well.” She takes a long, slow sip, faint smile on her lips. “Are you aware that Blake and your niece Yang are… involved?” The word takes on an amused lilt, and he laughs, shoulders loosening at the welcome distraction, though ocean waves swell somewhere in his thoughts.

“Yep,” he replies with a simple shrug as he goes for the flask in his pocket. “That why you’re here? I mean…” With a wink, he gestures with same hand, contents audibly sloshing.

She shakes her head, though her smile grows wry. “I’m simply here to support our town’s local businesses. Though I can understand why the offer may be tempting for some.” And all at once, her smile falls, gaze distant. “They are growing up fast, aren’t they Qrow?”

With a snort, he chokes back thoughts of Yang’s first part-time job, her first time on the road, how close behind Ruby follows, how close she is to getting behind the wheel herself, how _tall_ they are now. “I remember when all the girls cared about was playing tag with each other on the beach. Used to barely come up to my hip,” he sighs, patting his side for emphasis. “Now Yang’s practically an amazon, and petal ain’t as short as she used to be either. Not to mention your kid.” He lifts his flask to that, knocking back just enough to calm himself.

“I know. Blake’s taller than _I_ am now,” she gripes, frown only growing.

“No offense, but that’s not exactly a difficult thing to be,” he manages with a smile, and then she’s all laughs and lax shoulders again.

“My height definitely isn’t what I wanted to bring up. I wanted to ask you if…” she hesitates.

“I’m an open book. You know that, right? Ask away. No pressure either way, though.”

“Are they ready…?” Her words feel foolish on her tongue, her own laugh incredulous. “Maybe I’m being silly, but… Ghira and I were very late bloomers, and…” Her words fail, lost to the uneasy scrape of her fork against her plate.

“No. No, I don’t think you’re being silly at all. In fact, it’s a damn good sign that you’re worried.” His hand palms through his hair, nervous himself. “That’s our job, right?”

“Right,” she whispers, and he can tell by the way she sets down her glass to hide shaky fingers that she’s even more worried than she lets on.

“Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. My firecracker’s smarter than anyone gives her credit for, and that means two things: Most of the time, she’s not gonna get in trouble, but when she _does_ there’s a huge chance that I won’t know unless she tells me.” He takes a long breath, then continues because the look in Kali’s eyes hasn’t quite been soothed. “But I know that she’ll come around eventually if she needs help, and I don’t see how Blake’s any different. They’re bright kids, alright?”

Her hands fall to her tea mug, and she nods in silence. They sit that way for awhile as he wipes down the counter and washes down empty glasses, scribbling down notes about his current stock in the meantime. She’s quieter than she looks, just like her daughter, but when she speaks it certainly counts, and eventually her voice returns. “I have another question.”

“Shoot,” Qrow offers.

“Would you like me to talk to Ruby?” Gentle hands find her lap, tug at her sundress’s flowy thrift store fabric before continuing. “Ghira saw her on the news.” Qrow’s mouth immediately opens, but she holds up a finger, hushing him. “I know that she’s a good kid, Qrow. Our daughters - you must think of them as daughters, don’t you? Anyway - they’ve hung out for _years,_ and I _know_ them. This certainly isn’t anything like the Ruby I know, and I worry because…” Stressed, her fingers bunch up. “Lately, Blake tells me less and less, and I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue as to what could have set this off. I know you’re busy--are you certain you don’t need more assistance?”

All at once, his thoughts drift precisely where he prefers avoidance, anger briefly burning in his eyes. Not at Kali, not at Penny, maybe not even at James. His anger stems instead from his own confusion, and he can’t help but wonder if she _knows_ something, something he doesn’t. “What could you do that I couldn’t?” he asks with narrowed eyes, then catches how curt he sounds. “Sorry,” he apologizes briefly, “But I think I’ve got this handled.”

“If you’re certain,” she manages, tone indifferent but gaze simultaneously doubtful and brimming with concern.

“Yep. I am.” Jaw set, he glances toward a couple familiar faces that swing open his front door before taking a window seat. “Excuse me, but I’ve gotta take this.” Without another glance, he’s around the counter and amongst a small sea of chairs.

He only feels a little bad about that.

___

There’s something he needs to do. His head’s muddled with chaos the next morning, and perhaps in search of grounding, he rises before the sun. She’d always do that--always said she wanted to, always made pancakes with little whipped cream smiley faces, always slow danced with little Yang and Ruby and span them around and blew raspberries to wake them up.

He doesn’t bother with breakfast today.

Qrow’s hands are shoved deep into his pockets as he lingers near a cobblestone sign that’s partially covered in creeping, emerald ivy. He shifts his weight, glowering at that stupid, stupid sign before pulling out his flask to take a sip, only to stop himself.

As much as Qrow wants to drink, he needs to be sober for this. 

He grumbles repeating those words over and over in his head as he marches up the gravel path up the hill, past a black car whose body is spotless and has a handicap parking permit hanging around the rearview mirror. 

Restless fingers drum and roll aimlessly, gifts softly clacking around within his jeans. Summer never really liked roses, and no matter how funny he thinks the sentiment, he wouldn’t bring her any then or now. Instead, because he still cannot manage calm thoughts, he decides that a return mission proves in order. 

Winding up the hill’s narrow dirt path, he procrastinates, takes the long way around, reads every last headstone on his way. For the most part, he perpetuates his avoidance further through keeping his eyes off the names that spread across all the headstones on the wide, flat hilltop. Some lives rest in lined family plots, but the older graves lie scattered at random throughout grass, dirt, and stone. Cold morning dew drips onto his skin now and again as he passes beneath cool orchid shadows, and his arms wrap slightly tighter around himself in response.

He does spare a glance at one headstone in particular on his way to _her_ tree, pauses to linger at the grave of some kid who passed away with only a decade to his name. To him, dying at that age would have proved empty, hollow, and lonelier than he could ever imagine. Still, he puts on his warmest smile as he pulls a single trinket from his pockets. Nearest to his headstone, he gently rests down a clear marble with faint blue speckles. Surely Summer wouldn’t miss just one, right? She loved kids, anyway.

He gives the headstone a gentle pat, bows his head for a silent moment, then rises and continues on his way.

Unseeing, his gaze frosts as he forces himself to make eye contact with the path, shoulders tensing as he rubs his hands over the worn leather sleeves of his jacket. He keeps his gaze there for a while, watching as he puts one foot in front of the other as he approaches? visits? comes to where she rests.

 

Qrow’s eyes close as he balls up his hands. 

Where she is. This isn’t resting. She’s _dead._

He can feel fresh air move down his throat as he sees smooth granite out of the corner of his eyes, and suddenly he’s not sure where to put his hands. Suddenly he’s too aware of how much air he’s taking in, how his hands curl and tremble, he swears he’s just too fucking cold-- he turns.

Qrow takes a deep breath as he moves to rub at his face, eyes opening to stare out at the graveyard, a mishmash of nice, even lines and little, family clustered plots sectioned off by rusting iron fences.

“Fuck.” 

Not like this.

There’s a dull, empty pain about his breath, strained, sharp, painful. Restless, sight unsettled, he kneels down on her plot and allows his head to rest against cool stone, fists curled.

Sometimes, there’s not much to say. For him, this is one of those times. Slowly, dully, he allows his muscles to relax, arms limp as memories flow, ebb. He sees her face, like he wants, and he swears he can feel her with him, and it’s all too much, so much. 

Allowing himself the pain of processing, even after two years, breaks him down all over again in tiny, unexpected ways. Like remembering her presence on the couch cushion beside him, together while she would knit and he would work away on his laptop, fingertips barely touching. Like the way his tiny home suffocates without her there to lighten the atmosphere, walls too close, bodies trapped somehow. If she were there, would he still feel that way? Feel as though there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to look without seeing her? She’s always in the back of his mind, and that hurts.

But he thinks blaming her for this, dwelling on this...that hurts even more, pricks his eyes. His breath chokes, and then he’s on the ground, hugging himself, seeing only the name etched in stone before him. He can’t call death abandonment, and Summer would never abandon his family. Not like this. Awareness fails to break through even still, because if he’s being honest, there’s blame in his heart all the same. He blames her because she’s gone, blames himself because she’s gone and he didn’t do anything -- what could he have done when he wasn’t even behind the wheel? -- because he’s alone even when surrounded by friends, kids, family, love, care. Tai’s wry smile that echoes on Yang’s expression, Ruby’s kind eyes that wrinkle just so, just like hers… Selfishly, he feels like none of that will ever be enough to fill him, to make him whole again.

He’s alone without her, and explanation fails, gives way to the sensation of sinking through the floor, world around him simultaneously too wide and too small. He feels sick, entire body heavy as he sits back on his knees, movement causing a wince. Physical pain hardly proves the worst of this, the worst of the crying, the breaking, the way he swears he shouldn’t feel by now. And through all, he finally allows the quietest confession, strained. “I miss you.”

And then the tears wrack his body all over again, and again, and again, and at once he cannot stop.

Then, drained, devoid of all energy, silence washes over him. This fixes nothing, he’s certain, this stupid little trip, but as he robotically lays out the first of his returns, he allows himself to remember her laugh. Marbles of all colors and sizes lie between them in a row on top of her plot as he recalls the sound, loud and clumsy, intermingled with a few snorts here and there. He tucks the red and black ball into the dirt first, then goes down the rainbow one by one until he can feel her smiling.

He’s sorry. He hopes she’s doing okay.

___

If he’s being honest, Qrow’s not sure why he decided to stick around in the graveyard after visiting Summer, but he finds himself wandering through the rows and clusters of markers anyway. Occasionally he’ll stop, staring down at the names and dates listed before him.

For some reason, he gets the feeling that people who live in this town didn’t live very long, at least back in the day when they didn’t have shots and proper access to medical care. Not that they have proper access now, with the way the government is heading. 

Government, huh? By total coincidence, he stops in front of the grave of some long-passed mayor -- according to the tall, broken pillar obelisk, “Mayor to Some, Friend to Man” -- and his stomach feels abruptly jostled as he finds the last name ‘Belladonna.’ Beside that obelisk resides another mayor, another Belladonna. Belladonna, Belladonna, Belladonna, all in rows, all impossibly _mayors,_ and for a moment that’s hilarious. What the hell are the odds, after all? But as the matter further sinks in, he feels almost _betrayed._ Maybe there’s more to Kali’s actions than his irrational anxiety that the entire town’s hiding something huge. Maybe _this_ is what she’s hiding.

There’s no reason for his shock when he takes a critical eye to the matter. Even in towns as tiny as theirs, nepotism reigns easily. But something in him desires so strongly not to believe that. Or, at the very least, to believe that there’s some reason. And hell if he can prove it, but he’d bet anything that the fishtail incident has something to do with this. Some way, somehow.

He’s forcing his brittle bones up a steep hillside and away from the endless obelisks merely to find even _more_ obelisks, like tall, neatly planted trees, all in rows. In the distance he happens to notice the pale outline of a crouched figure, and as he approaches with reckless abandon he recognizes pale, silvery hair.

"... Oz?" he calls out, perhaps too loudly.

Ozpin's jumping and he's kind of leaning over a gravestone and pulling up weeds and--  
"Ah." He sucks in a surprised breath. "... Good morning, Mister Branwen."

"Yeah. 'Good.'" There's a disconnected chuckle. "Nothing like being around a buncha dead people before nine a.m., am I right? Scared the hell out of me, y'know."

"Well, there's no need to be so morose about it. Death is a part of life, after all." His hands press down against the gravestone to pull himself up and take his cane into his grip. Qrow snorts when he realizes that Ozpin is dressed in the same clothes that Ozpin fished him out of the sea in. "And you did the same, by the way. Didn’t your parents ever tell you that sneaking up on others is a nasty habit?" 

"Didn’t _yours_ tell you that telling strangers to doubt their own reality's a pretty fucked up thing to do?" He's leaning against some sturdy tree, rather than the rusting chainlink that surrounds them. If someone really wanted to trespass, it wouldn't exactly be difficult.  
"Nevermind that. What brings you here, anyway?" he points, thumb running over the smooth, metal ring on his index finger. "Bringing the dead back to life? Robbing graves?”

"Tending to my mother's gravestone, actually." Ozpin tilts his head as he crouches down again to pull out a bottle of water and a cloth from the bucket he brought with him. A grin plays on his lip, the same one that he gave Qrow when he was pulling out the splinters in his hand on the night they met. "Though I suppose if I truly wanted her pearl necklace, I could go get the shovel out of my trunk."

High overhead rise granite obelisks in neat, tidy rows. Qrow wonders how many there are, how many lives once coexisted behind closed doors, how many of them that the man who seems so comfortable before family passed once knew, knows in his heart even now. His parents, at least, had to mean something in the same way every child’s parents mean _something._ But the rest he’s certain he’ll never know, never ask, and never really desire knowledge for. Even for him, certain questions hold taboo.

With caring hands, Ozpin whittles away at moss and dirt. Never does his smile waiver, caught on his lips, and he watches as the overdressed man pauses to stifle a laugh in his palm as though remembering an inside joke. His mother’s grave stands tall, taller than both of them, a granite column adorned with hard, smooth flowers that resemble daisies. At Ozpin’s loafers rest a bouquet of daisies, in fact, all yellows and whites and reds like the sunrise.

Qrow laughs a bit awkwardly as he reaches for his flask, filled to the brim in preparation for the emotional onslaught. "Hope it's not too soon for you to joke about your mother like that. Pretty sure mine would kick my ass from beyond her damn grave." Then, more softly, "How long ago was it?"

"Ages ago. Though I..." he pauses for a moment, eyes flickering down to the worn, battered graves. "... I left them long before they passed on." A sigh leaves his lips as his eyes close, and he feels a chill run through his body. “I wasn't even aware they had moved on until I returned home."

He nods solemnly, arms crossed. "Sounds like the worst way you could've found out." Given his reluctance to address his own grief, Qrow couldn’t possibly imagine what to say to the man that crouches amongst the dead as though sweeping, mowing the lawn, tending to a garden. Tone casual, he clears his throat to ask, "You sure you're alright?"

"Of course." He's not, but he sees no need to confide in a stranger. "But thank you for your concern, Mister Branwen." Since Ozpin’s due for a change in subject, relaxed amber eyes find distant red and focus, pensive. Qrow’s posture has been horrid since his arrival, and that hasn’t escaped him. Instead, he finds himself cautiously concerned. "Are you visiting someone?"

"Yeah," he responds delayed. "I am." Wind rolls through his hair and skin, cold before the dawn fully breaks overhead. Fingers roll aimlessly at his thigh, tapping, and he remains silent beneath the dreary clouds.

"... I see." Ozpin decides not to pry from there.

Instead, he crouches down once more in front of a different grave, knees popping in protest as he grabs the plastic bristle brush and softly drags it over the front of the gravestone. With each stroke, moss, dust, and crystallized sea salt fall into the emerald grass, turning it white little by little. Qrow watches for a few minutes as the man goes about his work, and at some point he pulls his flask out from his back pocket. After knocking back a sip, Qrow takes a risk and asks:

 

"This your day job or something?"

"Now and again, yes. Most people don't have the time to take care of family graves anymore, so they call in people to do it for them." A hum leaves Ozpin’s lips as he leans back to examine his work, hand running over the name on the grave. _Azniv._ Apparently, peculiar names run in the family. "... not that I mind. It pays decently for only an hour or two of patience."

“An hour or two before the sun rises?” Part of him thinks this man’s either dedicated, insane, or both. “Look, that ain’t my cup of tea, but I suppose whatever works for you is whatever works. Plus…” He laughs softly, tone earnest as he rolls his shoulders and loosens overused muscles. “Gotta admit, it’s pretty noble of you, Oz. Assuming you’re not secretly an axe murderer.” For the most part he’s joking, but the more paranoid part of his mind remains unable to put the idea past him. Doesn’t help that he’s surrounded by dead family members.

"And if I was an axe murderer... what exactly could you do about it, Mister Branwen? I don't recall leaving any evidence behind after my crime spree."

Qrow’s making a face. This guy’s still awfully nonchalant. 

A grin plays on Ozpin's lips, though it's mostly hidden by his hair and the angle he's currently at. His fingers brush over the name of the grave, nails digging in slightly to remove bits of moss that have grown into the pillar over the years.

"I'm joking. Please take a breath, Mister Branwen."

"... You're not exactly helping your current case, Oz." Between the mysterious appearances and dodgy explanations, if this man _does_ participate in illegal activity then Qrow has no reason for surprise. At this point, the whole supernatural schtick proves nothing more than an afterthought: Ozpin’s actions are suspicious, humanity in question or not.

"Do I look to be in any condition for chasing people down in the woods?" His tone rings earnest in the cool, early morning air. No, that’s not true; there has never been any reason to question this man’s humanity. Nothing in his eyes proves cruel, nothing in his intentions hold danger or spite. For a moment, as Qrow meets his gentle gaze, he feels almost guilty. Assumptions really won’t get him anywhere with this guy, will they?

Even so, even if that’s true, what he saw remains to be explained. "You don't look like you can do any of what you did at all.” His free hand waves as he moves to take a prolonged sip from his flask. “So I don't really think that matters." He watches Ozpin’s shoulders rise and fall, Qrow’s words pulling a sigh from his lips. For once, Ozpin is silent, and silence lingers in the air. The pause makes Qrow shuffle his feet in the grass, eyes glancing away, back digging into the old oak tree’s trunk.

He continues. "... Look, a buncha things have gone down since then." His hand rubs soothingly over his face, nose presses into the palm of his hand against that damned scar that would be scabbed over still if Ozpin had only left it alone. “Weird things. And I still don't feel like I know what's--"

"I know."

 

"Oh. Oh you _know_.” tossing up his hands, Qrow rolls his eyes. “Well, great to know that you know about _my_ life just fine, Oz." Reciprocity in a world as empty as his may be all that Qrow believes in. No Gods, nothing that cares, nothing but an eye for an eye. But even this interaction falls short of that ideal, and maybe that’s the reason he chases the unknown as though owed some explanation. 

But Ozpin knows better than that, better than the pointless pursuit of unknowns, knows that sometimes knowledge only makes him feel smaller and inequal instead. "... Would you lend me a hand? Since you're standing there." Kindness touches his voice, falls upon damp grass and warms empty air between them. He believes he understands Qrow’s perspective all too well from what little he’s ascertained, and certainly he feels remorse. Being out of the loop even when for the best can provoke isolation, confusion, and sometimes pain. Still, his movements do not slow. "Do you mind taking that bucket of water and pouring it over the gravestone to your right?"

His lips twist, nose wrinkles, but he silently nods as tired legs find his way. Soreness may not be Qrow’s stranger, but mental fatigue’s unwelcome addition yields another layer of exhaustion. He’s losing it lately, losing time, himself. Even alcohol doesn’t sufficiently numb in the face of all this, world dashed against the wall, consistency an empty thought. By the time he kneels and grasps thin bucket handle plastic, all he desires amounts to sleep.

As asked, he pours the bucket, watches dirt and moss drip down across smooth grey. Wordlessly Ozpin passes the man a small brush, and Qrow mimics uninstructed, strokes careful, sparing, circular. His head continues wandering, and so do aimless red eyes across endless graves. Ozpin, Ozpin, Ozpin… All across this hill, to the left and right, all Ozpins, all his family. He briefly ponders whether or not the entirety of his family rests here, then assumes the question too rude for asking.

"... ... I have known James for a long, long time." Ozpin replies after several minutes. He’s placed the brush to his side to stare down at his work, amber eyes half lidded. “He simply informed me about Penny. That's all."

Silence pools between them again as Ozpin stands, stretching his arms above his head before he runs his hand over clean marble. Qrow’s eyes flicker back to the gravestone he’s hovering over, brush pressed deep into the engravings that moss, dirt and salt have filled over the years. He thinks he can make out an “H” and an “E” of this person’s name, if he squints.  
Unlike the other graves in this family plot, this one isn’t an obelisk. It’s more of a simple headstone, the top of the granite barely coming up to his knees. The statue on top adds height, however, so the marker comes up to his hips.

 

"... ... ... She apologizes, by the way. For her behavior last night." Ozpin mumbles, moving to the backside of the grave Qrow’s in front of and slowly kneeling down. Instead of a brush, Ozpin is armed with a soapy cloth that he scrubs at the bottom of the statue with.

After a moment, Qrow realizes that the brass topper is a deer, back legs suspended and nose pointed high into the air. Its metal eyes are wide, as if someone encased the it in metal the second the animal came across a pair of headlights for the first time.

Qrow grunts after another minute, still furiously scrubbing at the name with his brush -- he belatedly hears Ozpin tell him to brush a little softer, that the grave isn’t going anywhere if he just takes his time, but he doesn’t heed it -- "She doesn't need to." 

Qrow’s joints burn as he settles back on them, and he can feel wet earth soak into the knees of his jeans. Usually he’d grumble about his pain, swear and stand up, but he’s too tired. Instead, he gives a passing mention and thinks about how much stain remover he’ll need to remove grass stains from jean fabric.

Ozpin hums, nodding faintly before Qrow opens his mouth again.

"We all go through our phases, Oz. So I don’t really give a damn what happens as long as she gets through it intact." he pauses, lips pressing together as his knuckles go white around the brush handle. "... Why the hell are you telling me this?" Qrow flicks his wrist, dirty water, plant matter and god knows what else flinging off the brush and toward Ozpin. The man simply leans to the side to avoid the debris, unhappily grumbling.

"What, one minute I don't get to know..." Flick. Water sails to the right of him, and at this point Qrow’s restlessly gesturing, hands motioning right, ”And the next you're just gonna tell me all about your involvement?" and left for emphasis. "I knew that whatever this was, you and Ironwood were definitely involved."

 

“That is apparent, yes.” Ozpin hums, and Qrow has to resist the urge to wrap his hands around Ozpin’s throat. Instead, he focuses his attention on clearing moss out of engraved letters. He can see an “I” now, and maybe an “A” if he squints.

"Now, it's none of my business, but you’ve also gotta understand why I can’t let this go.” Not that Qrow entirely understands why he can’t let this go. At this point, perhaps the extent that he’s been forcibly immersed in his world’s peculiarities equates dwelling on the past days. Maybe he still wants validation, wants to know that everything’s real. “What I’ve seen…” he chuckles to himself, feels Ozpin’s frown on him before he notices his hands patiently meshed together in his lap, shakes his head somberly. “This would make anyone crazy. And I’ve got enough to deal with. All I’m asking is for you to give me an answer.” Any answer.

His shoulders pop as he rises again, cane in his hand as he walks over to one of the many large, old oaks that encase the cluster of graves. Plopping down next to a bag, he sighs as he pulls back the leather flap and pulls out a steel thermos. "Would you like some hot chocolate, Qrow?"

... He's laughing again. "Alright. Fine." Heavy legs thunk down next to him, and he winces slightly as aching knees pop. At his side, Ozpin pulls out a second thermos from his leather satchel, passing Qrow the container with concern.

 

"... Did you know this town used to be a sea port?"

"Nope."

"My great grandmother would sit and watch the ships roll in from the edge of this cemetery. Though..." he hums, unscrewing the lid on his thermos with steady hands and taking a sip.  
"It wasn't a cemetery then. This used to be a place where they would.. Hm." Ozpin pauses, his hands wrapping around the thermos to warm them. "... burn witches, would be the best way to describe it. They would bury them here, actually. Since it was far removed from the town itself at the time." he says with a laugh, as if remembering a joke from long, long ago. "My grandmother always said the witches had the last laugh. According to Nana, witches do not make very good kindling.”

 

Qrow’s nose wrinkles in distaste. "Wasn't aware I settled down near some burial ground. "  
"Can't be good for property values."

"Now, I never said the witches stayed buried." A low, amused hum leaves Ozpin’s throat before he lifts his drink to his lips, effectively muffling the sound. 

Meanwhile, Qrow looks at Ozpin, looks at the thermos, and slowly dumps in half of his flask, maintaining eye contact. "Really." Clearly, he doesn't share the sentiment.

"Really." he grins, leaning back against the tree, eyes closing. He senses that the stubborn man may very well continue prying, so he beats him to the punch with his own curiosities instead. "May I see your hand?" This time, when he reaches toward Qrow, his nails’ unusual color burns hyperaware in his brain, cold blue.

"Depends." With a deep, nervous sip of his cocoa concoction, Qrow snorts. "What're you gonna do to it this time?" Red eyes fall to his own hands, warm and tan, calloused and fuzzy with dark hairs, nails a healthy shade of pink. Despite late night biting and worrying at flesh, he’s relatively certain his hands are normal. But the patch of skin that Ozpin healed still feels smoother, uncomfortably so, almost as though belonging to someone else, someone younger.

Ozpin’s brows tuck, as though wounded by the mere accusation. "I was going to see if it had healed correctly, but if you do not wish to let me see, I understand,” he states, taking a drawn out sip of his thermos as he watches Qrow’s nostrils flare with pride. “I…” starts an interrupted Oz.

“Pretty sure I can handle the healing process on my own, doc.” Snappy and now very aware of his own skin, Qrow’s ‘good’ hand nervously taps away at peculiarly young skin. This hardly strikes Ozpin as regarding personal space; he let him in easily enough the other day for comfort, desperate or not. No, this display is, very clearly, fear of unknowns.

"I did not finish,” he says gently, not wanting to spook the anxious man. What occurs to him, however, is that fear creates a formidable weapon, and that failure to check the interference of his own work could prove… well. He clears his throat. “However, if you'd prefer to possibly have the skin fall off at any time, then please go about your way.”

Qrow chokes on his own spit, abruptly coughing his head off. " _Jesus._ "

“I doubt he wishes to be involved in this,” Ozpin teases, then laughs, the sound lingering around them as he watches Qrow’s expression meld from shock to mild exasperation.

"Figured that was the sort of thing you should _really_ tell a guy,” he hisses, finally settling on brief, fiery anger. Fists curl, teeth snap together, and the man beside him merrily laughs like this, Qrow’s utter frustration, comprises weekly entertainment.

He shakes his head, breaths as even as possible. Frankly, remaining calm and collected in the face of something so funny hardly makes an easy task. At the back of his mind, however, he does feel slightly bad for upsetting the man. Slightly, and only slightly, because he always seems to be upset. "I'm joking, I promise.” Mostly, Ozpin silently notes to himself. Perhaps fear was the wrong approach after all.

"Dunno if I believe you, Oz." And, mostly, he doesn’t, doesn’t believe anyone, doesn’t trust so easily as he did the night he met this baffling man. Anger slowly cooling, he closes his eyes, counts to ten, and reopens to find a too-patient Ozpin with a too-kind grin. There’s a fleeting consideration about whether or not any of this would be happening if he weren’t around, but he quickly dismisses the sentiment as irrational. Whatever’s happening, Ozpin’s hardly the catalyst; these things have likely always haunted this town beneath his nose, and that’s not necessarily his fault. Innocent before proven guilty, right?

Guilty before proven innocent has always been easier, though.

"Well. You don't really have much of a choice," he states, calmly offering his free hand, amber eyes sliding open, flicking over to meet narrowed, burning red ones. 

Qrow’s eyebrow is quirked, lips set in a firm line as he simply says, "Like hell I don't."

"True. There's always a choice, Qrow." Ozpin smiles, all smug and self assured as he continues. "Anyway. Your hand, please?"

"You're _really_ persistent." But... He's forking it over as though suddenly his own limbs disgust him, lips twisted distastefully as his resolve finally falters.

"So I've been told." He hums, eyes flickering down into the warm hand in his grab. His own hand is still as cold as ever, blue tinged nails resting over tanned skin. He turns Qrow's hand over so the palm is facing upwards, while amber eyes scan the surface though his tinted glasses. ".. This healed nicely," he says after a minute or so. "Good job, Mister Branwen."

"On what? Doing nothing?" Qrow rolls his eyes, not expecting an answer. "You're still not explaining. You mentioned witches. Are you trying to tell me you are one?"

"You never asked,” he says simply, but that isn’t true.

" I _am_ asking.” Frustrated fingers grip at Qrow’s scalp and tug forcefully, the unbelievability of Ozpin’s dodging slowly dawning on him. Why the hell was this man so incapable of being straightforward?

"Perhaps try being a bit more specific, then.” Cool, indifferent, relaxed and unaffected. Qrow realizes that he doesn’t want to punch him: he wants him to _fucking cut that out._ And it isn’t fair, because Ozpin’s not at fault, not for his lack of knowledge, not for Penny’s tail, and to his knowledge not for Ironwood’s reticent nature. He knows he’s being unfair, that being so annoyed with him about being flaky may even be juvenile, but right now he can’t bring himself to give a damn.

 

Truthfully, though, he still wants to _understand,_ and that’s not going to happen unless he plays along. "You didn't answer me,” he starts, careful. “Are you a witch?"

A pause. Ozpin tilts his head, considering his answer. "... No,” he finally confirms. "I am not a witch."

"Then how'd you do it?" Qrow asks, then clarifies before Ozpin can ask ‘do what’ or demand specificity. Not again. “How the hell did you heal my hand?”

"Magic. How else? Though..." Qrow begins to groan, but Ozpin cuts him off with a raise of his hand. "... it wasn't all me, to be fair."

With a grumble, Qrow takes a deep breath. Quickly, he decides that pursuit of whatever that means can’t be worth the hassle right now. Instead, he risks a very personal question, one that he swore he wouldn’t pry about, feels sick _for_ prying about. "Your entire family is dead. Were they all magic, too?" Usually, he’d want to kick himself for being so tactless, but getting answers from him is like pulling teeth. Qrow has no other option _but_ to be direct.

Silence sometimes provides peace, comfort. Qrow feels neither as Ozpin fumbles for words, tries in vein to explain his magic’s origin. That’s what he’s searching for, isn’t it? An origin. "It was part of..." he tries, but exhaustion fills his expression the moment the words exit his lips. "Ah. Well." Sadly and softly, he shakes his head and offers, “Consider it part of the package, Qrow. That’s all.”

"I didn't order any package." Qrow’s almost entertained himself at this point. Dodging, dodging, dodging. That’s his strong point, isn’t it? "C'mon,” he prompts, nudging the man with his elbow only to earn frowny, tired eyes. "Tell me the truth."

 

Another silence.

"Qrow,” he starts, trying again. How to put this? How to satisfy the man who so desperately wants an origin, some reason? “You brought me to you. Therefore, I was…” he searches for the word, feels his mind briefly blank before resurfacing. “Obligated to assist you.”

... He looks at him like he's told him pigs can fly. "Nope,” he snorts. "I didn't bring you _anywhere,_ Oz.” When thin brows raise, he emphasizes, "Last I checked, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts."

A sigh. Ozpin knows that’s a lie, but doesn’t portray his hand. "It's... complicated to explain, Qrow,” he admits earnestly, hands perched in silent frustration on his thighs. “I do wish I could be precise.”

Qrow checks his watch. He can’t be late again. "Then maybe we should do that some other time. I've got work." With a yawn that says he’d rather be in bed, he pours the remainder of Ozpin’s thermos into his flask. "Thanks for the cocoa."

"Work?" asks the white haired man, as though just considering the thought. “Ah. You run that bar that Ghira and Kali frequent, don't you?"

"That's right." He's a little miffed that Ozpin continues to demonstrate information about his life, but he laughs anyway. He’s even more miffed that he and Kali _do_ know each other, which may as well mean that the entire damned town’s in on this mermaid tail bullshit, but he doesn’t have even a moment to dwell. "I suppose I'm glad that word spreads,” he mumbles primarily to himself. “Good for business."

"Incredibly good for business,” offers Ozpin as some small, comforting token. “Ghira speaks highly of you. James does, too."

Qrow’s eyes only narrow further at this information. "So, you're all gossips."

“Isn’t everyone in this small town a gossip, Qrow?” Another white flag, another defensive measure.

Qrow’s arms cross, and he clucks his tongue. "Are you all fish, too?"  
Then, as quickly as he asks, he retracts. “Know what? Don’t even answer that. I’m gonna go, so see ya, Oz,” and he is, but he belatedly realizes that he’s successfully caught Ozpin off-guard. His eyes are wide, like he’s seen a ghost, perhaps like Qrow officially reigns supreme over hell as the devil himself.

And now Qrow’s the one who’s laughing. Really, really hard.

“...hah,” Ozpin murmurs, shocked.

When Ozpin’s fingers begin nervously tangling and playing with the tassels of his scarf, Qrow offers his own token. “Relax,” he winks. “I’m kidding… mostly. None of you are off the hook.”

"Ah. A pun." Unenthusiastically, his palm pats his chest as his throat clears. Questions brighten amber eyes that remain uncharacteristically flabbergasted, as though the man’s conclusion somehow equates a crime. "This early in the morning?"

"Not intentional.” Qrow flashes a smile, high on the tiniest of victories against this cryptic menace.

"Clearly.” Still, as he recovers, the man restores his easygoing grin. Puns are not lost on him.  
"If I didn't know you better, Qrow, I would say that you're finally giving in to being a father. Horrific father jokes and all.” Siiiiiiiiiiip. Cocoa flows from his mug, drowns his thoughts of what Qrow might do with his little revelation. Frankly, he has no proof, and he isn’t quite correct either. Not quite.

"You don't know me better,” Qrow cautions simply. "Keep that in mind, alright? We’ve just met, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t assume my personality solely from small town gossip.” He’s on his feet, but he lingers as Ozpin speaks.

"Well, while we’re at it, I'd appreciate it if you didn’t assign horror movie tropes to mine," he chuckles, extending a hand for Qrow to shake. "Regardless, it's nice to meet you, Qrow." He leans down close, shakes firmly but briefly once, and doesn't have to wonder how poor this man's circulation is for a moment: he's ice. Deep blue ice.

After careful consideration, he offers one small, final act of peace: "Nice talking to you,” he admits. “This time, anyway." And then, with more finality, “See ya.”

He's a little empty as he leaves the graveyard, and all he can think about is that stupid scarf in the middle of July, and his hands, and his laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my lovely girlfriend for suffering through the writing process with me. We went paragraph by paragraph together!
> 
> I hope you'll stick around for more OzQrow! There'll be a dash of nuts and dolts and bumblebee, too, but mostly OzQrow.


End file.
